Kismet
by C-AND-B
Summary: Just a bunch of AU!Bechloe one shots that haunt my brain (also probably a load of side Staubrey because they're just delightful).
1. All's fair in Love and (Prank) War

A/N - As always I apologize for any mistakes. As for the thing as a whole it'll be updated whenever inspiration strikes and, full disclosure, POV's may vary between 'chapters' due to the fluctuating frazzlement of my little head.

* * *

It's harmless. Or, well, it began harmlessly. It really just started with a few April fools jokes, you know, the usual I switched the sugar for salt and maybe switched your easy wipe whiteboard markers for permanent ones. Casual things. Except then it got out of hand - only a little, tiny bit. It was slightly inevitable though, you think, that eventually one of you would step it up just a little bit and then the other would until it reached new heights that you couldn't really descend from.

It wasn't that bad though really. The real issue is that the two of you are supposed to be respectable high school teachers and role models or whatever bullshit Principle Posen was shovelling out that week. But instead you were hosting some kind of whispered in the hallways prank war with the Literature teacher. In your defence though, Chloe had started it and there was an undeniable thrill in watching a plan you've conjured finally be executed to perfection.

There's also the fact that the knowing smiles she throws your way are your favourite thing in the entire world. You don't vocalise that though because you do have a reputation. A reputation you have built throughout the years of a teacher who does care about her students and wants them to succeed but isn't taking any shit or participating in school activities (honestly - teacher participation activity days can suck your ass). But you've been pulled into this and you won't back down, so instead you cautiously defend yourself at all hours of the day because Chloe isn't taking any prisoners and you can't afford to have your guard down.

It takes all of five days for the escalations to come to blows.

Monday begins with you doing something that could maybe be possibly considered illegal in some way. You're not entirely sure the legalities of what you've done but something within you tells you that the reaction will be worth possible jail time. I mean, so what if you maybe persuaded (coerced) the adorably dorky IT teacher to hack into Chloe's system so that you can have control over her computer. It's not that bad. Not really.

You kinda only meant to change her background - which is the first thing you do and you're fairly proud of the melon pun that now sits proudly on her opening screen because it's just so Chloe and it's harmless enough. But the knowledge that you can do so much more lingers in the forefront of your mind and you finally understand power trips because this is exciting.

You're downfall into the prank begins there.

In actuality, it's your schedules fault because had you been required to teach a lesson you wouldn't be so tempted to pick up your laptop and access Chloe's, so in essence, you wouldn't have waited until she projected her screen up onto the board and then taken control of her device.

Not your fault.

It may be a little bit your fault when you blast Rick Astley through her speakers but you bask in the surprised squeaks and subsequent chuckles it emits from the students. Not as much as you love the way the redhead calls your name indignantly from across the hall (you're not sure you love anything that much).

"It's a classic" You call.

"I'm not bringing you pizza tonight," she replies and you almost, _almost_ , storm into her classroom.

"But its Monday, Chlo" You all but whine and you can practically feel her responding sigh.

"Fine but only because I can hear your pout"

"I would deny that but I'm not pushing my luck. Remember extra-"

"Olives - of course, despite that being weird as hell. Now leave me alone I actually have lessons to be teaching" You return to procrastinating then but not before smiling at the final "Great pun!" she shouts that signals her switching back into full on teacher mode and telling the kids to stop muttering and acting all suspicious because it's time for Shakespeare.

* * *

Tuesday puts you on edge because you know she'll try getting you back. You have to be vigilant. You have to be prepared. You have to… get girlish giggles thrown your way from the moment you step out of your car? _What has she done?_

It takes you all of two minutes to clock the flag pole or, more specifically, the flag that is flying full mast - a flag that has your sleeping face printed on it with the words '#BealesBitch'. You have a few questions in that moment, 1. When on earth did she take that picture? 2. How on earth did she manage to get it up there? 3. Why on earth would she pick _that_ caption and _that_ photo because it sure as hell looked suspicious, like 'Conrad's-eyebrow-wiggles-when-the two-of-you-interact-aren't-misplaced' suspicious.

You can't very well explain to the smirking kids asking you questions that you were asleep because you had fallen asleep after fixing her leaky faucet because it was late and you were tired as hell because even that sounded like some kind of euphemism. Essentially you were universally screwed and by the thirteenth chuckled comment you were ready to start slapping minors (or just putting them in detention or whatever). Thankfully you made it to your classroom without being handcuffed and taken away, only to find Chloe innocently sitting in your chair with a Cheshire grin.

"Good morning?" You drop your bag with a huff.

"The principle is going to see that"

"Oh Aubrey won't do anything to me - we've been best friends since college" Of course they had. And of course Chloe had kept that little detail quiet about the newly appointed woman. You really needed to delve further into her past and dig up some dirt.

"Firstly that's totally abusing your power in this tournament and secondly there's still the small matter of the little tiny people and the rumours you have sparked quite violently." This doesn't seem to have the effect that you were hoping for; in fact she seems to actually perk up a little at the suggestion. Huh.

"Really?"

"Chloe, I have literally been asked three times in about two minutes if I, and I quote, enjoy you being my cherry on top" She laughs and you want to roll your eyes but there is something sparkling in her own that makes your breath catch slightly. You can't decide whether you want to push her off your chair or take her on your desk in that moment but the ringing of the bell stops you from making, what you think is the inevitable decision.

"At least they're being creative?" She stands up and you shove her towards the open door.

"Shut up, Beale" She all but out of the door when you call for her to stop. "Oh and for the record, I would definitely be the cherry" You'll regret that later when a few of the early students start muttering about it to their friends in the hallways, but as of now her blushing cheeks and throaty laugh are enough to make you forget about the consequences.

* * *

Wednesday gives you plenty of time to execute your prank because Chloe isn't in until lunch and you've always been handy with a screwdriver – which means you have her door off of its hinges in less than five minutes and it's moved into your own classroom in another one. The best part of it all is that it's a solid forty minutes into her lesson that she realises she's missing something quite vital and storms across the gap to you. You say 'storms' but you know she practically skips across the divide grinning (she enjoys this just as much as you) before she puts on her best annoyed face and feigns anger with a half-hearted sigh.

"Miss Beale, what brings you here on this fine Wednesday afternoon?"

"You know, Miss Mitchell. You also know from that particular disaster with the Ikea furniture last week that I cannot use tools to save my life so come put my door back on" You smile at the reminder of the Chloe you found lost between sheets of paper and various planks of wood trying to decide how it was supposed to create a desk. You also vaguely clock some kids passing money between themselves towards the back of the classroom and a few others grinning widely and high-fiving their friends at their… victory?

"What's the magic word?"

"Cheetos" She pulls a bag from behind her back and throws them in your direction, only banking on your reflexes to allow you to catch them before they smack you in the face.

"Close enough. Class finish reading the chapter and I'll be back in five minutes or so" She squeezes your arm thankfully when you're done and closes her door with a smile, and whilst you stupidly smile back through the glass you catch a glance of more money being passed between the students of her class. _What the hell was going on?_

* * *

You know Thursday is her day. You know she is going to get you back and so you brace yourself. You expect every little thing to end up in a prank. When she greets you with a particularly forceful hug in the morning, and lingers for longer than she really should for _just friends,_ you expect to find a 'kick me' sign on your back. When she brings you your favourite coffee from your favourite shop at lunch you expect it to be spiked (it's perfect). When she leaves a box on your desk you're so ready for it to be one of those exploding glitter things, except it's a glazed doughnut and its delicious and what was her plan here?

You can definitely say that's its unexpected when you're midway through lecturing the kids on the differences between classic and alternative rock and your phone rings with a completely different ringtone to the one you set.

"Really? You're rickrolling me?" You shout between your classrooms.

"It's a classic" She mocks back, much to the joy of your students who start laughing at your extravagant groan and eye roll. She was going to be the death of you.

"Are you dating?" Blunt. The words are so blunt that they leave no room for miscommunication and you want to know who said them but you cannot, for the life of you, discover the culprit and everyone in the room looks so excited to hear your answer that it could have been any one of them.

"No" You laugh, and then you laugh some more, and maybe a little bit more because the question has made you unusually nervous and you haven't lied but you still feel a little deceptive because it isn't from lack of wanting to, nor is it from lack of the two of you doing couple-y thing. You're just… not dating. Money changes hands again and it steals you back from your Chloe induced coma for you to wonder - _what are they all doing?_

* * *

It's on Friday when word reaches you that there's a betting pool between students as to when the two of you will finally go to "pound town". And yes, they were in fact calling it pound town, which, you're fairly sure is actually worse than Aubrey's frequent use of penetration and all of its derivatives in completely normal conversation.

Although there is a certain part of you that thinks it's actually kind of amusing, most of you is just confused and distracted and entirely unprepared to withstand or create your own prank. The lack of anything is probably what triggers Chloe's presence by your desk at the end of the day. You don't clock her at first as you lean scarily far back in your chair and will it not to tip because that's the last thing you need right now. But you become acutely aware of her position behind you when her fingers meet you shoulders and begin to massage the knots and kinks that are tormenting you.

"I think it should really be you massaging me. I've been so tense all day waiting for a prank that hasn't seem to have come" She's not really doing anything anymore other than gently resting her hands on your shoulders and making every inch of your body beg you to rest your head upon her magical hands. You do. It's everything you hope for and more.

"Sorry about that"

"Can I ask why?" You sigh because how do you phrase this? Probably just outright you suppose.

"I found some kids betting earlier" You unconsciously snuggle further into her and you feel her step forward to accommodate you. You feel uncommonly warm as you cocoon yourself in her arms but you've also never felt better than when her arms wrap around your torso with her chin fitting snugly upon your head. And what were you saying again? "And while usually I would look the other way, it seems they were betting on how long it would take us to get together or even if we've been lying this entire time"

"Ah so you finally found out about ' _pound town'_ as I believe they call it?" You startle at that and jump from your chair to watch her carefully.

"You knew?"

"Everyone knows"

"For how long?"

"I don't know for sure, but I think it began about a month after I started here? It was probably that day it was raining and I had stupidly worn that white shirt – you know, the day that you stared at my chest for a good three minutes before taking off your jacket and offering it to me in front of your entire class" You cross your arms and step further into her space because no. If anyone were sending signals out it was her, right?

"Okay, I did not stare at all, let alone for three minutes. And if anything were to make them think we were dating it would be that time you stole my favourite shirt and wore it to school for the whole student body to see and totally recognize as being mine" It's her turn to step forward then and you definitely expect her to have a quip or example at the ready only she doesn't. Instead she runs her nails along your scalp and, whilst it's single-handedly the most delightful thing you've ever experienced, you have no idea what is happening.

"Chloe, what are you doing?"

"Testing a hypothesis"

"What hypothesis?" You're trembling and you know she can tell because she's smiling that smile she has that lets you know everything will be okay, but she just needs you not to startle or run away like a tiny, scared animal.

"That you're not so opposed to the whole bet and that maybe you didn't prank me today because you've been too busy thinking about what it would be like if we were dating" You laugh breathily and lean into her wandering hand without so much as a second thought.

"We're already practically dating. I mean, I do your handy work and you make me awesome chicken mayo sandwiches for lunch" She smiles.

"What have you been thinking about then?"

"This." That's when you kiss her. That's when you kiss her and everything is… woah. Just woah. And the whole concept of air is a little confusing to you for a moment, and you're all but addicted to her mouth in about two seconds, 'cause fuck does she know what she's doing. But then she's moaning into your mouth, and you're pushing her up onto your desk, and maybe you know just what you're doing too. It gets out of hand because apparently the two of you can't just do things casually – Exhibit A, the prank war. Exhibit B, your body pressed into the apex of her thighs.

You're apparently also bad at discretion; however that doesn't become apparent until you hear multiple high pitched squeals and some wolf whistles originating from your doorway.

"We knew it. Bechloe totally lives guys" You open your eyes to students - more specifically the band because of course you forgot that today was practice and they always meet in your classroom. _Super_.

"Hey… guys" You mumble with a meek wave as you help Chloe from your desk and straighten your own collar.

"How long has this been happening?!" Jessica screams from the front of the group and you half expect her to rip her shirt open to reveal a fandom shirt of the two of you with the amount of pep she's vibrating.

"About five minutes" Chloe replies and you want to elbow her except instead you stupidly turn and catch her smirk, which, paired with her unruly locks achieves nothing but making you want to find out what they look like spread across your pillow.

"This is so awesome! Can we maybe lie about all this till next Tuesday 'cause that's when I placed my bet?" This was going to be the longest band practice ever – and not just because Chloe decided to stay and torture (tease) you with her lecherous gazes. _Damn it_.


	2. Last Call

"Can I ask you a question?" It probably wasn't the best start, or the most suave, but my palms were sweating a little bit (a lot) in agitation and, by this point, I was sure that I could legitimately feel the intensity of Jesse's gaze burning into my back as he eagerly awaited the answer. Naïve boy. Naïve, annoying, ass hat of a boy who was the reason that I was going to make myself look like a complete and utter idiot in front of, quite possibly, the most attractive woman I'd ever seen. Ever. In my life. Like so completely and totally hot she could have been providing for her own solar system.

It was actually getting a little bit hard to be annoyed at him though when his heart was going to get crushed any second now because his small (totally huge) infatuation was definitely unrequited, and he was so completely blind to it that I thought – in a moment of idiotic sincerity – that I should just help him out for once. Hence the situation of me being about to embarrass myself in front of the redheaded goddess, who was currently spinning in her chair towards my voice and smiling in a ludicrously perfect manner. It was equal parts charming, terrifying and… comforting.

"You can ask me as many as you want if you let me buy you a drink" Was she flirting? If so, it was definitely going to work but I wasn't going to show it. I smiled politely.

"Sure. Scotch" She chuckled and her smile grew to a point that made me sure I'd have to start planning my funeral arrangements because I wasn't going to make it.

"I didn't say a drink of your choice. Cocktails are two for one and I'm using you as an excuse to have one" She winked as she handed me the menu and I found an easy smile slipping onto my face in return. "So blue eyes, what'll it be?" I pretended to look over the choices but I'd made my choice the second I'd reached a particular name on the list. This was going to be fun.

"Screaming Orgasm, I suppose" She didn't flinch. She didn't even flinch as the words passed from my lips; she simply pursed her lips in a way that told me she was trying to keep a serious face, whilst all she really wanted to do was chuckle at my immaturity.

"I know you only picked that so I'll have to say it aloud but know that I'm not that easily deterred" She spun towards the bar and easily flagged the waiter down – with the speed he tripped over to us it was obvious that he'd been eagerly watching the exchange. She grinned devilishly as she leant slightly forward on the bar and I found myself bracing for what was to come. "I'll have a Wet Snatch and a Screaming Orgasm" He did flinch. In fact he actually choked on air and then stumbled over the liquors, trembling as he evidently attempted to make the drinks without repeating the sounds of the words slipping delicately from her lips over and over again in his head. I, on the other hand, had no such reservations in revelling in the echoes of her. But with her eyes back on me a moment later, I almost choked on air myself.

"So, now that your plan had successfully backfired, your question?" My easy smile slipped into an easily forced one, she definitely noticed but she said nothing.

"My friend over there" I pointed to Jesse who was helpfully waving like a puppy greeting new visitors. The redhead waved back just as enthusiastically and it was clear that nothing about it was forced and ironic, she was genuinely happy to indulge him. Sweet. "Is sure that you are in fact Aubrey Posen's friend" She nodded.

"That much is true and your question happens to be?" I sighed, tousling my fingers through my locks.

I was such an idiot for agreeing to this.

"I cannot believe I'm actually doing this for him… I'm technically supposed to casually ask you if she's single because he has a ' _romcom level crush on her_ ' – his words not mine – but we both know that she has been exclusively banging Stacie Conrad from her advertising department for at least a month" I watched as she cocked an eyebrow in amusement but made no effort to tell me that I was wrong, which, _thank God_ because it was a total shot in the dark based upon maybe two heated looks I'd seen exchanged between the two when I met Jesse for lunch. I took a deep breath.

"I suppose my question is actually a request. Could you maybe, you know, cast him a saddened look and sympathetically shake your head so that he can go on hoping one day he'll have a chance with her - without having to grow a whole new set of parts and change his entire personality to match a girl I'm fairly sure he once called a harlot" She tugged on her lip in deliberation and I'd be lying to myself if I said I didn't follow the entire movement meticulously.

"You're sweet"

"Huh?"

"You just spoke to a stranger – something I know you hate because I've seen you at work and you avoid absolutely everyone in there, and also because you look like you might vomit. Don't get me wrong you still look ridiculously beautiful but you look sick – just to save your best friends feelings over a gay woman that I know for a fact you don't like very much" _She called me beautiful? That happened right? It did. It totally happened. Fuck. Speak Beca. Speak!_

"That was a nice summary of events but you're partially wrong. I don't like talking to strangers – that much is true. But I look sick because I spend most of my lunches with Jesse playing with my food and staring at the back of your head while you throw paper aeroplanes and hum under your breath. And my best friend, being oblivious to just about everything that isn't his failing love life, hasn't noticed and so he sent me to talk to you about possibly one of the most embarrassing things ever" Deep breath.

"Even sweeter"

"So…" I trailed off and she smiled softly.

"Chloe" I grinned in return.

"Chloe, help me out?" I implored with a nervous smile.

"Sure" She followed my request exactly. One slow turn to face Jesse - check. One solemn shake of the head accompanied with a sympathetic smile - check. One sweet chin up action that he smiled at before she faced me again - check. Impressive. I was too busy being dazzled by her oddly amazing performance to pay attention to the ink marking the skin of my forearm in lines and swirls.

"And this is…" She filled in the blanks once again.

"My number. Just for the record, I may have been slightly aware of your wandering gaze at lunch time, and it may have been the reason for some very salacious work outfits. Enjoy your Screaming Orgasm" She chuckled as she slid the drink along the bar and I allowed myself to join in with the musical sound as I grabbed my drink and turned on my way.

"Enjoy your Wet Snatch" I called over my shoulder much to her amusement and Jesse's awe. His jaw was still the main decorative piece of the floor by the time I sat back down beside him, oddly enjoying the drink I'd received. I'd happily slurped about half of the drink before Jesse finally came to his senses and started sputtering at me for explanations.

"You didn't even try there! What did you do and can you teach me?"

"I didn't do anything" He snorted.

"It was the boobs then. You may be all melancholy and sullen but They greet people with a grin" If I rolled my eyes at him anymore by that point they could generated enough power to supply an entire town by themselves.

"Why are we friends?"

"Because I kept pushing and pushing until you caved into my juice pouches and Rocky" He grinned boyishly until I cracked a smile.

"Sounds about right" He could have that one, especially because all I could really think about were the numbers on my arm and the wink that was thrown my way as the owner of them all but strutted from the bar.


	3. Party Pooper

You are acutely aware that the burning churn in your stomach is being fueled by a mixture of annoyance and anxiety and, if you're being honest, a festering hate that is beginning to form for Jesse because he keeps bringing you to these places. These places being namely parties of people you hate, or simply do not like on the principle that you don't actually know them and they seem like a bunch of preppy assholes. Obviously by preppy assholes you mean that they hang onto one another like leeches connected at the mouth, and chant about things that most definitely could be done without chanting – without any utterances at all. And also that they have decided that Halloween is not a holiday about blending in with demons so that they don't eat your soul but instead an opportunity to see how much breast they can show without it coming loose. On second thought, that part doesn't annoy you so much. Also, you aren't really wearing a costume other than the fake smile on your face when they drunk stumble by you, so you can't judge because if there's one thing you hate more than preppy assholes, it's hypocrites.

The music is helping. The bass is flooding through your body. You've been mentally preparing songs as you drink an oddly colored liquid that you are sure you should not have picked up because, holy hell, does it smell kind of funky and, quite frankly, it tastes like ass. On the other hand, you feel kind of fuzzy and you've actually managed to keep your smile in place so it could have been the best idea you've had - as long as you don't include the elaborate mash up you've been mentally planning for the past five minutes because you can hear it in your ears and it's awesome and you need to get it down.

You're about one second away from chugging your rainbow drink extravaganza and ditching Jesse to hang out with his other, more socially acceptable friends, when a voice breaks through your haze.

"Let me guess - distasteful youth that's bored of the human existence" You laugh, and shock yourself when you realise that it's real. It's a pure unadulterated chuckle and the girl who earned it clearly knows that you don't hand those out often because she's beaming like she's caught starlight with her bare hands. Or maybe that's just her face? The latter could be true because you can't imagine her face looking any other way. Scrap that, you can quite easily imagine it scrunched up in a moment of ecstasy, other than that though…

"Spot on! And you're... "You take her look in. She'd dressed in such a way as you had just mocked a moment ago and you hate yourself for immediately thinking that she looks kind of adorable. "A cat that's late on her rent and needs to make a quick buck?" You implore innocently and she looks down at herself unabashedly as she chuckles at your comment. Your own smile only widens at the realisation that you made that sound a reality and you hate yourself immediately for letting her make your heart race.

"The packet said slutty cat but now that you mention it I think there probably is more to the story" You hide your grin in your drink just as she does, but she must be watching closely enough to notice the face you pull when you regret once again drinking whatever the hell you're drinking.

"The punch, right?" You nod and she takes the cup from your grasp, only to replace it with her hand and you swear to yourself you could have let go, but that was a lie if you ever told one because hell or high water could not have split your hand from hers and you chastised yourself for getting so attached to the warmth that her grip provided. You deafly note that she's dragged you into the kitchen and your hand all but stings when the bottles cold condensation touches your skin in a stark contrast to the heat she'd created.

"Beer?" You ask dumbly and she grins.

"Far nicer than 'Penetration Punch' in my opinion"

You twist the cap off in your palm as you question, "Penetration Punch?" You are struggling not to laugh as she sighs defeatedly and rolls her eyes good naturedly before pointing over to a group of boys that seem to be doing an extremely elaborate dance. Jesse is with them. Figures.

"Trebles, giving drinks ridiculously horrid names and tastes since the dawn of time. Amy told them it wasn't a good enough reason to incorporate the idea of penetrating, but apparently it's a tried and proved method of getting girls panties to drop"

"And you removed it from me?" She winked and you'd be lying if you said your heart didn't claw at your rib-cage before it stopped altogether. Once again you hated yourself almost immediately. What was happening to you?!

"I don't need that drink, I'm pretty confident in all this" She makes a general gesture towards her body and your brain disconnects from your mouth for a moment (if you can even claim that it was connected in the first place).

"You should be" You sigh and she laughs.

"See? I've already drawn you in with my charming personality and my totally rocking body"

"Pretty sure of yourself for someone who doesn't even know my name" Her grin is alluring, and you almost keen over at its infectious and ludicrously tactful nature.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that, Beca" You start.

"Either you're a magician or a stalker" She laughs.

"How about Option C – I asked your friend before I came over here" You roll your eyes because of course Jesse had something to do with this – just when you were prepared to hate the boy he delivers an insanely beautiful woman into your hands.

"And why would you do that?" She rolls her eyes this time, like you asking is the most ridiculous concept she has ever come across in her life.

"There's something about the way you distastefully watch my friends that's undeniably hot." She states confidently before she drops her eyes from yours and tugs at the costume you almost forgot she was wearing. "Plus I keep seeing you at parties and I made a bet with myself that I would stop being a chicken shit"

"I've never seen you at a party before" You wonder confusedly because honestly, as clichéd as it sounded, you would have remembered coming across her - you mean, she had the kind of face that imprinted in your mind regardless of whether or not you wanted it to linger as it did.

"That's because your head is always in the clouds, Bec" You shrug because you can't deny that, although you feel a little like you're in the clouds right now and you're angry at yourself for letting her affect you in this way, for letting her get under your skin so quickly. Except, you're not. Not really. In fact, you're kind of high on the fact that you've never felt this way before. You've never felt so energized.

"I guess it's only fair that you tell me your name then…"

"Chloe" She fills in. You repeat it aloud. You repeat it a few times in your head afterwards. You whisper it against her mouth later on when she pushes you against your apartment door. Except, by then it sounds less like a name and more like a prayer.


	4. Florist Gump?

It's a Tuesday when she first blows into the shop. It's completely mundane and no matter how in love with flowers you are, you're bored as hell until she rushes in with the wind, looking completely perplexed and nervous and like she's ready to run away from just about everything in under a second. Though underneath all of that is something of determination – like she wouldn't back down, even if she found a lion in the other corner of the ring.

She's beautiful you note and it's far more an observation than it is a compliment because it's fact. It's an undeniable fact that's in the most clichéd way possible; she is the most beautiful thing in your store (despite the plethora of plants surrounding the two of you). She's a mess of unruly brunette locks, and piercings, and tattoos, and ripped jeans, and plaid. If Aubrey were by your side she would turn her nose in disgust, but she isn't, and you wouldn't have cared anyway because despite all of what Bree would call flaws she's outrageously pretty. Fact.

"Need any help?" You ask with a laugh because the woman is desperately staring at the flowers like they'll grow mouths and tell her which ones buy. It's adorable. She smirks as she turns to you, as though she is trying to trick herself and you into believing she's doing far better than she actually is. It's endearing really, and her smile is far prettier than anything you've seen before so you grin back as her smirk slips into a sigh and she runs her fingers tiredly through her tendrils – ordering them to rest in a perfectly rumpled manner.

"What kind of flowers do you get your dad when he's an asshole and didn't believe in you, even though you're actually incredibly successful at the one thing he said you suck at, but you promised your mum you'd go and break bread with him and his home wrecker of a wife and her perverted son?" She gulps for breath when she's finished and she looks almost sheepish at her outburst but all you want to do is laugh because it's evident that she's wanted to say that aloud for longer than anyone would care to admit.

"Fake flowers with a pot large enough to house a bottle of something strong?" She laughs then, some of the tension straightening out from her brow with the sound. "Honestly though, I can't say I've ever been in your situation so the exact arrangement is escaping me. _But_ seeing as I own the place, can I suggest something expensive and overtly outrageous that will both assert your dominance and buy me the new shoes that I want from the store down the street?" You meant it as a joke but she's smiling at you like you've somehow eased her burden and shrugging her shoulders in a jovial manner before she says 'why not?' and you're sure you're being punked right about now.

"Seriously?" You ask incredulously and her smile only broadens at your sudden loss of bravado. She nods so you go about picking out different colours and hues and things that strike you as very _her_ when you lock eyes with them.

"One of us might as well have a good day" You hand her the bouquet and she looks at it inquisitively before smirking at you again. She's looking at the till and handing you money before you've even comprehended making another move. "Thank you, have a nice day" She says and it sounds like she means it. You manage to find your words before she's out of the door because damned if you won't be the one to have the last word with the prettiest woman you've seen in some time, if ever.

"Hey if you wanna impress them, you can tell them that the pink flower at the front is called a gladiolus and symbolises strength and moral integrity." She grins like she knows you picked that one especially to push her on before she replies.

"You think I'll look knowledgeable?" She questions with her lopsided grin in place.

"Oh totes, and if not, at least you look insanely pretty today" She blushes as she stumbles through the door and you chuckle as you find yourself whistling for the rest of the day.

* * *

She comes back two days later. It takes her stepping one inch into the store for you to realise that you've been waiting for her to come back since the moment she all but fell out of the same door she's emerging from. She laughs as she tumbles towards you but she's once again looking around at your flowers with a panicked expression and little huffs of confusion.

"What can I get you today?"

"The kind of flowers you give a platonic friend when they wanted something more and you said you didn't feel that way about them due to them being a dude and having all that hanging meat stuff and they looked kind of like a kicked puppy choking on your gayness?" She's gay, is your first thought. Your second is that it's pretty darn cute that she cares enough to buy her friend some flowers because of something she can't help. Your third thought is that it's not exactly the kind of present a guy wants to receive when you've just told him you're gay. You're not judging though because her last purchase really had bought you those new shoes and you are working them like crazy.

"I probably wouldn't buy him flowers" You say, and you wonder why on Earth you did, because you're fairly sure you just decided that you were going to sell her flowers that she didn't really need because you wanted a bag to match your new shoes.

"Then what do I buy?" She implores desperately as she all but slams her head on your counter. It takes far more of your willpower than it should to not run your fingers across her scalp in comfort. That thought startles you because, while you've always been one for contact, you don't know anything about this woman other than that she has an odd penchant for flowers in times of trouble.

"What does he like?" She lifts her head to look into your eyes like somehow the answer is there. It isn't. You don't mind though.

"Juice pouches and Rocky" She says with a laugh and you know you'd understand the joke if you were him. Except you're not. You smile anyway because her whole posture changes in that moment like she knows exactly how to fix it. She hugs you over the counter and it makes your heart jump because she doesn't look like much of a hugger and the way head tucks into your neck makes you feel special – like somehow no one else in the world has experienced this exact thing. She shrinks back nervously when it seemingly catches up to her what she's doing. Chuckling nervously, she scratched the nape of her neck in agitation before she eventually cleared her throat and spoke again.

"I'll take some of those blue irises"

"I thought you decided against flowers?" You ask but you're already putting them together as you speak.

"I did but I like these flowers" You cock an eyebrow and she shrugs her shoulders despite the blush on her cheeks that you can't quite decipher.

"You know these flowers means-"

"Inspiration" She completes and you almost forget to breathe as she smirks and collects her flowers, once again placing the money on your counter before you can even comprehend what's happening. You don't manage to find your words as she leaves this time but you can't hold back the slight choked sound as she shouts,

"Nice boots by the way" Someone found their confidence.

* * *

It takes four days for her to swing by next time. You're getting slightly restless waiting for her when you catch a blur of tattoos and piercings rushing through the door. You can tell she needs something by the frustration in her brow and the calculating way she pulls her lips into her mouth with her teeth. You're already laughing at her by the time she makes her way to the counter and groans.

"What is it with you and flower arrangements?"

"I'm not very good with words and I figure thrusting flowers at people tells them that I do actually care a little, I'm just terrible at saying so" You bob your head along with her words because it actually makes perfect sense.

"Alrighty then, what is it today?"

"My roommate, slash best friend, has kind of found herself in a pickle" You urge her to continue because Lord knows you're confused as to what is actually going on here. "She… sleeps around a lot but she likes this woman who keeps coming into her bar and she's moping around and I wanna fix it without having to actually having to, you know, 'fix it'" She's twisting her fingers nervously, but she watches you with purpose as you let your eyes dart around your shop, calculating what to give her.

"Do you want something for your friend, or something your friend can give to this woman?" You finally ask because you're not sure exactly what would be the best thing for this situation.

"Oh, that's a good idea!" She snaps her finger and points at you like you're some kind of child prodigy. You nod because it's a pretty simple fix now. You hand her a potted orchid and she stares at it for a moment before she rolls her eyes at herself like she should have guessed something so obvious.

"Thank you" She says earnestly and you see her reaching into her pocket for her money for once before you reach over the counter and halt her movements with a single touch.

"This one's on the house"

"Thanks. Again" She's back to stumbling out of the door again when you beam at her.

* * *

"You're back" Is how you greet her three days later which obviously wasn't your most suave move because you've totally given yourself up. You've totally and completely given away that fact that you all but yearn for her to return to your store – which is terrible in itself because you should probably be doing the business-y stuff Aubrey is constantly trying to talk you into like inventory and taxes or whatever. She doesn't make a comment straight away though, she just smiles like maybe she too has been counting the seconds until she can return with some ridiculous dilemma.

"Sorry about that, I just apparently hadn't screwed up for a few hours but I return to you _oh mystical flower goddess_ with two problems I need to fix" You laugh before you straighten yourself up in faux seriousness.

"Well then, we better get to it. What's the first problem?"

"Okay, so my super adorable prodigy thing just got her first real record deal that wasn't from me because she wouldn't allow me to sign her and get full credit for her awesomeness because that felt like ' _cheating_ ' or something stupid and that feels like a flower thing, right? She's super cheerful and clumsy and stuff if that helps" She's buzzing a little bit and it strikes you that this actually really means a lot to her, that she really cares that this girl has succeeded and has done it all by herself despite her feigned bitterness.

"How about a Bird of Paradise?" You point out the flower and she watches you inquisitively like you should already be filling her in on the necessary information. "Joyfulness, though I mostly just suggested it because it was delivered like five minutes ago and its sorta hella pretty"

"Can't argue with that recommendation, prep it up" You do as ordered with a large smile as you watch her nervously shift her weight from foot to foot.

"What was the second thing?" You prompt.

"Oh yes, number two, _numero dos problemo_. The second problem is that I keep begging this insanely beautiful flower girl to help me with my outrageous issues, and I'm fairly sure I'm funding her shopping addiction - only I forgot to ever ask her name and I have this insatiable need to know what it is because Red isn't gonna cut it forever."

"Oh well that's easy – it's Chloe"

"Beca" She replies with a smile as she places her money in front of you and walks out without so much as another word. You hope she comes back sooner this time because you're going slightly out of your mind over this girl, over _Beca_.

* * *

She comes again the next day with a flower already in her hand and a timid smile on her lips.

"I think there should be a rule about people bringing flowers they bought elsewhere into other people's stores – especially when they're as adorable and helpful as I am"

"Don't make me laugh because I had to go to that weird old man on fifth for this flower, and I'm still not quite sure if it means what I think it does because he doesn't speak English all that well and I think I offended him somehow so he could have lied" You find yourself chuckling at her until you finally take in the flower in her hand and the sounds die in your throat. A gardenia.

"You're lovely?" She mumbles.

"You're quite lovely too" You reply as you step towards her. "That creepy old man didn't lie to you, although my flowers are much nicer than his" She's laughing until the moment she looks up from her feet and sees that you're right in front of her. In that moment her breath catches in her throat and you grin because you've still got it. You think she nearly has a fit when you slip your hand down her arm to take the flower from her grasp.

It's your breath that disappears next when she captures your lips in her own.


	5. Hawkward

I would like it stated to the court that I, Beca Mitchell of the Atlanta Mitchell's, did not willingly, or of my own accord, purposefully attend a bird watching club meeting. I would also appreciate at least six months in witness protection to allow people time to make up outrageously rebellious rumours about me in order for me to regain some of the credibility I lost for _accidentally_ having attended said meeting.

Obviously I wasn't there on purpose. I mean I couldn't tell a pigeon from a plastic bag. Plus the most knowledge I had of birds was that you could get African and European swallows, and even that was a fact garnered from too much Monty Python. But it wasn't my fault that my usual lunch hideout had been unceremoniously stolen by a cheery redhead and her misplaced hopes that people in this day and age enjoyed legitimate bird watching, as opposed to quad hottie watching (leering).

My downfall began the moment of my hasty escape from Stacie's in-depth retelling of how she'd finally managed to _'tap into the sap of the forbidden tree and taste the sweet Posen_ _nectar'_ \- clearly that was the sentence that had me running for the hills, and desperately wondering why the rest of the group had stayed behind to have their lives permanently destroyed. It was creepy. It was crazy creepy and whilst I could sometimes appreciate the sheer theatricality in which Stace presented her stories, this was Aubrey we were talking about, and it just seemed weird - so I did what I do best, ran and hid in my favourite spot (the key word here is _my_ because while, yes it was a public space, no one had dared to hang out there again since the lunch debacle of 2012).

Normally it would have been a great idea. It would have been the best fucking idea in the world, _would_ , had it not been for Little Red and her infectious grin. To clarify, Red would be one Chloe Beale, also known as, the girl I had been denying my humongous crush on for at least four years. So technically, she was my downfall because clearly had it been anyone else I would have walked straight back out of the room or, more appropriately, stared at the space invader until they got scared and fled in terror. But it was Chloe Beale. The Chloe Beale. And she was staring at empty chairs looking sadder than she'd ever been until she heard the door creek, heard _my_ door creek and smiled with renewed vigor because in her words,

"I knew someone had to come!" I was fucked. I was eternally fucked. How was anyone, let alone someone infatuated with her everything, supposed to tell the world's most cheerful girl that they didn't, in fact, mean to attend her bird watching club, they just forwent reading the sign on the door and barreled straight into a surprise attack? Short answer - there isn't a way, so I did what I had to. I lifted my gaze with a smile and calmly took a seat in the barren circle with a small lie.

"Of course, wouldn't miss bird watching for the world. Love me them birds. You know with those hollow bones and beaks and stuff. Super cool" Okay, lots of small lies, and embarrassing continuations of sentences that I should have ended way before I did. She laughed breathily at my ineptitude to act like a human being and the sound made my heart stutter awkwardly, like it'd finally taken it's stabilisers off but didn't quite have enough balance to exist on its own just yet.

"Well, Beca, since you're the only one here and you're such a big fan of birds you can be my VP" Great. Two minutes in and I had already managed to become Vice President of a god damn bird watching club.

"And to think I thought I was going to have to fight for the position" Despite the slight sarcasm I knew it was official. I was a masochist.

And that was how it all began. That was how The Barden Birders became a legitimate thing and festering self hate started to grow in my chest, alongside the unadulterated hope that somehow this ridiculous situation would allow me some possibility to speak to Chloe without embarrassing myself.

By the third meeting I was surprised that I was the only one turning up. Not because I could legitimately imagine students being interested in birds - although it was High School so there logistically had to be at least one kid out there who actually cared about our feathered friends - but even if there weren't everybody loved Chloe, _everybody_ , and surely at least her friends, or some desperate AV nerds, would have shown up for moral support or their ticket into her life.

By the fifth meeting I was also struggling to pretend to be so invested in the beaked beasts. And maybe I'd be lying if I said I hadn't spent a couple hours researching the local birds so that I could at least fake knowing what was happening, since there evidently wasn't another participant to hide behind in the conversation. But there is a limit to the amount of ridiculous facts one can retain before they start going crazy and actually reciting bird related trivia to their friends who look torn between laughing at you and having you institutionalized. Stacie obviously knew the truth. Not because I told her, but because she smelt it from a mile away like a fucking bloodhound. She had gotten suspiciously giddy over the whole situation but I chose to ignore that, if only to guard some of my leftover sanity (and maybe also because I only had two minutes to make it to the latest Barden Birders meet).

Really I should have stopped attending.

Really I should have walked out of the first meeting with a half-arsed apology and a small sprint.

As I reached the room, however, I knew me leaving wasn't going to happen. It wasn't going to happen in a million years because Chloe's face would light up each time I once again showed my face, like even she was expecting me to have ditched this a long time ago.

"Hey Becs, right on time" Nicknames had also became a thing. A very heartbeat skipping thing, that made me feel simultaneously nervous and like a giant fucking idiot because it was literally a shortening of my name, and yet – it was Chloe.

"Of course, Chlo. Wouldn't miss all this for the world" I was a liar. A masochist and a liar. Great combination. But she smiled. She smiled like it was Christmas, or like she'd seen the starry night sky for the first time, like I'd made her day and I knew I was a goner. I was going to continue attending this shit fest and I was going to become the world's leading bird expert probably at some point if I had to.

"I was thinking we could go outside today maybe, see if we could spot a few of the local birds?"

"Sounds great"

That was how I landed myself in an abandoned corner of the field, hidden from prying eyes, with one Chloe Beale pressed oddly close to my side. And when I say oddly close, I mean I could practically feel the blood rushing through her veins against my skin.

Don't get me wrong, I loved every moment of it, but I was also struggling with all the bird facts I'd been rehearsing when I could feel her breath against my neck.

"I think that's a Brown Thrasher" I didn't think. I knew. Which was coincidentally how I knew I was in too deep because even with every thought I had crashing into some piece of her in my mind, I could still recognize a stupid bird. She turned to me slightly dramatically at that point, with a deep sigh that rushed from her lips. I turned my face to her curiously and found my forehead knocking hers with how close we were.

"I have a confession"

"Okay, Red"

"It's kind of embarrassing" I nodded slowly, silently urging her to continue with wherever this was going to go. "I don't actually know anyth-"

"Hey guys" Stacie. I turned. And Aubrey. _Great_. That was my cue right? That had to be my cue to escape. Whatever, I was going to get out of there in any case. I stood up in preparation, missing the defeated sigh that slipped from Chloe's lips as I did.

"Would you look at the time, I better…" I didn't bother even collecting my excuses before I exited back into civilization.

I had to stop doing that to myself.

She was at my door. Holy shit she was at my fucking door. One minute I was minding my own business being all safe and content with my own company and then there she was being all mind bogglingly pretty and knocking on my door with perfect rhythms because she didn't half arse anything apparently. It was inconvenient really. And inconsiderate. Completely inconsiderate because I was just starting to clear my head from today's events and lose myself in the music only to open my door – both legitimately and figuratively – to her.

"Chloe, how did you fi-"

"I don't know anything about birds!" She interrupted and that totally wasn't what I expected. Like, at all.

"Oh-kay. Would you like to come in?" She bypassed my body in the doorway in one swift motion and it was muscle memory that made me shut the door in her wake as I gave her my undivided attention.

"I feel so stupid about this whole thing. It's just I didn't really know how to start a conversation with you because you're kind of intimidating – but not like in a ' _you might punch me in the face'_ kinda way, in like an _'I think you're hotter than the sun and I'm burning up'_ kinda way. What I'm saying is that I maybe, sorta, purposefully took over your favourite hiding spot and panicked myself into pretending I had started a bird watching club in the hopes that we could hang out. Which I, of course, realise is totes ridic but then you seemed to know so much about birds and I couldn't tell you that I knew nothing then so I-"

"I researched them" She halted.

"What?"

"I knew absolutely nothing about birds besides the obvious"

"Then… how?" It was now or never.

"You always looked so excited when I knew stuff so I kept gathering more and more information to impress you I guess. I didn't want you to think that no one cared about a club that you seemed so invested in" She was grinning then, except it wasn't the casual ones she threw everyone in the hallway, it spread from ear to ear before she started laughing joyfully and I was going to have a heart attack. I was probably going to die and I honestly couldn't imagine a nicer way to kick the bucket.

"So what you're saying is that we both have been pretending to be bird fanatics for the other person who really couldn't care less either?"

"Pretty much. How hawkward" I cringed as her grin widened impossibly.

"Would you like to go out for dinner sometime?"

"Oh definitely, and for the record my love for food isn't a lie" She smirked.

"Owl keep that in mind" Somehow I knew these puns were going to go on for a long time and yet I couldn't quite bring myself to care. Not even in the slightest.


	6. Heartbreak Girl

_Prompt from_ _ **riptidehoe**_ _: Based off the song heartbreak girl, Beca tells her feelings through a song and Chloe finally realises who she's been looking for. (Chloe always seems like the one chasing Beca and Beca being all like 'yo I'm not gay' so why not flip it?) Plus please add a sympathetic Aubrey that helps Beca make everything perfect and hold Beca when she all sad and crying because Chloe is too thick to notice Beca is in love._

 _I don't know if you wanted more angst, but I'm apparently incapable of writing it – just makes me feel… dirty. As always, sorry for mistakes and enjoy._

* * *

She's an idiot, a beautiful, _beautiful_ idiot, but an idiot nonetheless. History sort of suggests that it should be me. It should be me that is completely oblivious to the reality of the situation and missing the subtext of every conversation and yet it isn't – it's Chloe.

It's Chloe who doesn't realise that she's the only one I initiate contact with, and not casual pats on the back or whatever, but full on hands intertwined, languid bodies pressed impossibly close under the solace of sheets. It's Chloe who doesn't even flinch as she suggests that the two of us practice our tongue dexterity together like it's just another day in the office and my entire body isn't set ablaze at the sentence. It's Chloe who sees nothing wrong with all but groping me in the middle of rehearsals in order to assess my lung capacity or whatever. It's Chloe who insists on massaging the kinks from my neck after a particularly gruelling day, and subsequently it's Chloe who insists that this can't be done whilst I'm wearing a shirt.

It's Chloe who unintentionally drives me mad with every single little thing she does. Honestly, I would argue that everything she did was a subtle tease of the situation but the moments in which she catches my gaze the innocence in her every move is so clear that I almost feel guilty for the incessant, loaded thoughts that cloud my brain.

Oddly enough it's me who confides in Aubrey about the whole thing. It begins with me somehow crying into her arms and her deciding that maybe I'm not all that bad. It somehow ends in the two of us (and by addition Stacie) forming some sort of alliance to get Chloe to open her goddamn eyes.

It's actually quite nice. It strikes me as odd that this was where I ended up – in a state that I didn't ever dream of being in, in a college I didn't want to go to, in a group I first laughed at, forming a secret (semi) club with two people I would never have even thought to be friends with. But it's nice, although that's probably because there's been a certain consensus of making light of the situation for the months going on years this seems to have been occurring.

Except, there's also a constant undercurrent that runs through each conversation. It's one that screams at me to finally have the courage to just tell Chloe the truth. It's one that pleads and begs for me to put myself out of my misery and stop listening to her rant about how Tom - who has found some new girl to… whatever it is the two of them actually did or were.

Essentially Chloe is oblivious and I'm obvious and also slowly going out of my mind.

As if the universe needed to prove some sickening point, listening to Chloe go on about Tom and his latest stab at making her jealous was exactly how I spent my Friday evening. Super.

I won't claim that I would have spent it going out and partying or anything remotely youthful but I could have been doing better things – like stabbing myself in the eye with a fork or having my head impaled on a spike. But instead, because I'm a good friend, and hopelessly in love with an idiot, it was spent with a despondent Chloe with her head in my lap and her hair in my fingers.

"You know he's not worth it, Chlo, and anyway didn't you say last week that you didn't even like him that much to begin with?" She twisted her head to look up from her hiding spot to stare helplessly into my eyes and if I were a lesser woman I would have embraced the feeling of her gaze pouring into mine and let myself do the very thing I'd been dreaming of since I first met her. Obviously, I didn't. Partially because now wasn't the moment and also partially because I was a total chicken shit when it came to her.

"It's the principle, Beca. Like honestly what kind of person moves on that quickly? And if I'm that forgettable, why did he even date me in the first place?"

"You're completely unforgettable, Red. If he doesn't see that then it's his own loss and his own fucking problem" She snuggled further in. I was doomed. God, or whatever stupid sentient being created this mess, totally hated me.

"You're a good friend, Becs" Friend, I could handle that even if the stabbing in my chest didn't subside because some part of her still needed me. The two of us remained intertwined for the rest of the night and they were both the best and worst hours of my life.

* * *

If course they get back together two days later. Only two days of peaceful and happy Chloe, free Chloe, available for me to finally open my awkward little mouth and spill my secrets to Chloe.

Truthfully I was surprised that it took a total of four days for her to call me up again, angry and bordering tears, to tell me all about how Tom was being a total ' _douche nozzle'_ and so forth. Which, to give credit where credit is due, was about three and a half more days than I had expected (hence the twenty bucks they were discretely exchanged between Stacie and I in rehearsal behind the back of Bree who still wasn't quite on board with the whole betting on it thing). It was inevitable really. This was the course of events each and every time – the only difference being the actual amount of time it would take for everything to go to shit.

What was also inevitable was the slew of sentences that would come out of my mouth subconsciously. You know, the usual _he doesn't deserve you, you're worth so much more than him, don't let him bring you down, fuck Tom and his stupid fucking face_ (the last one was more subtextual than literal). But that wasn't to say that I didn't mean it. I meant every single thing out of my mouth, especially the last one. It was more that the words were coming out on their own accord because I was too busy thinking about the furrow in her brow when she was sad, or just trying to put the pieces together in her mind, and also the many colourful ways I could beat Tom to a pulp.

"Why do you keep doing this to yourself?" Why did I say that, you ask? Good question and one that I tried, and failed, to answer myself the moment the movements of my tongue halted and the words stopped tumbling out.

"I don't know. I just feel like I'm having all these feelings and I can't quite place them but who else could they be for but Tom because I'm actually faithful…unlike him" Maybe it was the snide remark, or the hope that bubbled in my chest the moment her sentiments echoed down the line but I was done with this whole thing. I couldn't sit around and listen to this anymore.

That was how I ended up in Aubrey's room, interrupting a particularly heated… _mating ritual_ between her and Stacie. I spurred ahead in conversation to avoid both the awkwardness that was sure to ensue and the annoyance that would afterwards follow because they looked to be pretty far into the whole thing and Aubrey's moods recently suggested she really needed to release some frustration.

"Aubrey - I just… this is driving me insane. I can't do this anym-"Frankly, I was impressed with the speed that they collected themselves in that moment. Clothes were on, faces were considerably less flushed, and attention was solely focused. It was so impressive that it had me wondering just how many times they required such immediate changes – like, say, just before rehearsals when they always seemed to conveniently be the first ones in the auditorium.

"Stacie grab your drumsticks. It's time for Plan Z." Stacie up and left in an instant. _Oh no. Oh hell no._

"Aubrey." I warned.

"Come on, Beca. You wrote it, you're suffering; you might as well give it one last shot, right? I promise it'll be fine." I almost believed her. Almost.

"How can you promise that?" Incredulous would be the best way to describe my tone in that second.

"Because Chloe is my best friend, my oblivious best friend, but still." I startled at the head that poked its way around the corner, the heads of drumsticks following just after.

"She's right. Tell me Chloe isn't being exactly like I was before Bree here got so frustrated and just kissed some sense into me." That was a good point.

"Yeah but that's you and Bree and you're oddly perfect together."

"And you're Bechloe" That was a less good point.

"I thought Amy called us Bhloe?"

"I don't think either of you are gonna be blowing anything if this works out." _Fucking, Stacie._

* * *

This was a stupid idea. It was a stupid song. Why did I write it? Why did I tell Stacie and Aubrey I wrote it? Why did I let them learn how to play it? Why did I apparently enjoy inflicting so much pain upon myself? Why was I at a stupid open mic night about to blurt all my feelings out?

"You ready?" Why would they even ask me that? Why.

Stepping onto the stage, I was thankful that I somehow roped the two of them into this whole thing. Mostly because I would have ran off by now had I been by myself, and Stacie's countdown forced me to prepare myself and stop being a total numbnuts but also because I suppose they were kinda calming or whatever.

"This one's for you, Chlo" I utter into the crowd and the Bella's all grin because they know - not that I told them (not that I'd really need to). They grinned because this had been a long time coming and maybe everyone was getting just as annoyed as I was with this whole situation. Then I opened my mouth and the music burst through me and it was now or never.

 _You call me up,_  
 _It's like a broken record_  
 _Saying that your heart hurts_  
 _That you never get over him getting over you._  
 _And you end up crying_  
 _And I end up lying,_  
 _'Cause I'm just a sucker for anything that you do._

 _And when the phone call finally ends,_  
 _You say, "Thanks for being a friend,"_  
 _And we're going in circles again and again_

 _I dedicate this song to you,_  
 _The one who never sees the truth,_  
 _That I can take away your hurt, heartbreak girl._  
 _Hold you tight straight through the day light,_  
 _I'm right here. When you gonna realize_  
 _That I'm your cure, heartbreak girl?_

 _I bite my tongue but I wanna scream out_  
 _You could be with me now_  
 _But I end up telling you what you wanna hear,_  
 _But you're not ready and it's so frustrating_  
 _He treats you so bad and I'm so good to you it's not fair._

 _And when the phone call finally ends_  
 _You say, "I'll call you tomorrow at 10,"_  
 _And I'm stuck in the friend zone again and again,_

 _I dedicate this song to you,_  
 _The one who never sees the truth,_  
 _That I can take away your hurt, heartbreak girl._  
 _Hold you tight straight through the day light,_  
 _I'm right here. When you gonna realize_  
 _That I'm your cure, heartbreak girl?_

 _I know someday it's gonna happen_  
 _And you'll finally forget the day you met him_  
 _Sometimes you're so close to your confession,_  
 _I gotta get it through your head_  
 _That you belong with me instead._

I held my breath. I held it until I felt ready to pass out. I held it until my heart began to stumble. I held it until she found her footing and fumbled with her feet in an attempt to reach me. I held it until I threw caution to the wind - I kissed her then. I kissed her harder than I'd ever kissed anyone before because I was already screwed.

I'd already poured my heart out so why not make this whole thing even more painfully obvious and give her even more power to break me, right? YOLO and all that bollocks, right?! It didn't even click with me that she was kissing me back until I pulled back and watched her gulping for air and trying desperately to follow my lips through the space I was creating.

"Oh" She mumbled with a furrowed brow and my god was she beautiful.

"Yeah, oh"

"I'm such an idiot," she paused and I conceded the fact with a nod. "How long?"

"Probably from the whole 'help us make our dreams reality thing'" I whispered. She grinned.

"That's a long time" She noted like I hadn't known, like I hadn't spent these months slowly losing myself to an insatiable desire.

"It is"

"I think I just realised that you had me at _'dude, no'_ " I fell in love with an idiot. A beautiful, _beautiful_ idiot, but an idiot nonetheless.


	7. Out of Reach

It's… unexpected. That seems like the optimum word to explain the experience. It catches you off guard because people have laughed at you in the past (like a whole lot) and you're honestly sure by this point there isn't a short joke that you haven't somehow come across. There was also that one time the librarian - who seems to have an odd soft spot for you - once casually got you one of those rad ladders but _this_ , this is something entirely new.

You're struggling as per usual. Of course you are you can't exactly have grown the extra four inches you need to reach the shelf every single fucking book on your required reading list is on overnight. Except, perhaps you have because your fingertips are brushing the spine of the book you were almost debating trying your nonexistent telepathic powers on.

Coincidentally, the book touching also coincides with your feet no longer being on the ground and firm hands gripping your waist both respectfully and heatedly all at once (you suspect the latter description is mostly just your perception of the situation because they're incredibly attractive hands with extremely, extremely long finge- _shut it down, Mitchell_ ). Thank God you decided to wear a jumper because something tells you, you wouldn't be handling this situation so well had you been able to feel her palms molding into your hips.

You grab the book, if only to be put down and it seems the easiest way to achieve that - assuming that's why you've ended up here in the first place. Pivoting on the spot leads you directly to a redhead who's reaching one of her perfectly sculpted hand towards you in greeting and urging you to take it with an infectious grin. You accept and her smiles widens. They feel just as nice as they look.

"I'm Chloe, all round saver of lives"

"Beca – pale, awkward and very, very small"

"Adorable" She says and walks away. Nothing more, nothing less.

What the heavenly frick?

* * *

Somehow the second time you're even less prepared. Part of you is disappointed that you weren't more vigilant but the other; more logical, part of you is screaming that you couldn't have been expecting this. You shouldn't have been expecting this. You were doing as a normal person would – minding your own business and gently (aggressively) muttering about how annoying the shelves are and the ridiculous nature of the Dewey Decimal System.

Your angry mutterings were probably what drew the redhead – Chloe, you remind yourself – to your side. Perhaps swearing damsels were her catnip - like a moth to a flame she couldn't help but be entranced by the pathetic nature of your troubles.

You didn't gasp. You swear on your life that you didn't gasp. Except you definitely did. You know full well that you gasped, because you received this throaty chuckle in return that made the hands on your hips tremble and your throat close up until you could barely breathe, let alone release the crescendo of obscenities building in your chest at the feeling of her smooth calluses brushing against bare skin because _oh yeah_ _! Today was the day you decided a crop top was the way to go_ (obviously by that you mean today was the day Stacie locked you out of your shared dorm with nothing but a wink and an outfit that you would never pick on your own accord).

Your hand grabs the book on its own volition and you're glad because your brain isn't functioning properly and you really need to be back on the floor so that your IQ can rise back into double digits. Although when your feet are embracing the solace of the floor her hands are still resting gently at your hips, and her back is pressed so slightly onto yours that you almost pinched yourself to check you weren't dreaming. Something about the situation seemed so intangible until warm breath carried words through your ear and you couldn't deny it anymore.

"Don't strain _yourshelf"_

Who on Earth was this girl?

* * *

By the third time she is apparently trying new techniques in her lifts as though she's trying to gain flare points from the judges - of who appears to be an incredibly tense blonde and Stacie who looks suspiciously too split between focusing on your whole situation and said blonde to actually have came to the library to study like she claimed (not that she was going to get anything less than perfect on the physics test).

Except, more importantly than your audience, this new technique includes her facing you before she lifts which, in turn, means her face is the height of your breasts and that she's firmly nestled in there as you weakly reach for the book in question. As your feet leave the ground _fuck_ is your first thought, and your second, and your seventh. Thoughts three through six go something along the lines of _sweet baby Jesus_ but that's just you paraphrasing the complete and utter frazzlement of your entire, tiny being.

The fact that you've completed your task seems to go completely unnoticed by Chloe. You clear your throat in some attempt to remove her from your cleavage because your body is going haywire with each stuttering breath that rolls across your nipples with (un)intentional purpose.

"I'm finished" It comes out high pitched and scratchy and _wow_ \- you seriously need to think about how long it's been for you in that department because this shouldn't be affecting you so much. Or maybe it should because, despite the innocent grin on her face when she plants you back on the floor, you can see the smirk lingering between the spaces – the salacious nature of the redhead peeking through the cracks in her façade. She's trying to get you flustered. Lord knows it's working.

"Thanks," you mutter because she's still in your space. Her hands are still resting upon your hips, a gentle reminder that other things exist beyond the depths of her blue eyes.

"I'm always happy to help"

"I'm not so sure helping is at the top of your priority list there, _Chloe._ " She doesn't even have the courtesy to look sheepish. She merely winks.

"Oh it totes is, _Beca._ If you ever need a hand just holler" Well that sounded… _charged_.

"Just a hand?" Where was this coming from? The last person who tried to flirt with you was the awkward dude at the froyo shop who you almost threw your rocky road at in confusion, which was simultaneously how you discovered that Jesse was hitting on you also and you just hadn't quite realised yet.

"Whatever you need" It should be noted for the autopsy that the wink that follows the statement is what kills you or, more precisely, it's what causes that heart attack that kills you because holy fuckity fuck fuck, that's going to be the subject of your daydreams for a solid few days (read: weeks).

You don't reply. You merely stumble away with a weak wave of the book that started it all and return to Stacie whose feeble attempts at trying not to laugh outright at you has just resulted in her shaking like she has hypothermia and snorting like a pig. Luckily she still looks oddly beautiful because the blonde smiles softly at the sight and unfolds from herself in such a way that you finally note she's much prettier without the permanent stick up her ass.

* * *

Maybe the professor hates you. Maybe he himself is posing an important philosophical question of – how many times can Beca be almost groped by a freakin' Greek goddess lookalike before she loses all self control and does something stupid?

It's a valid question and you yourself are beginning to wonder how you're still holding onto at least some semblance of sanity when you once again feel a warm embrace (thankfully she's returned to the tried and tested method, unfortunately it still drive you insane). She laughs when you moan that you would have managed eventually and it trickles down your spine like honey pooling at your toes.

You stumble even harder when escaping this time but she simply shouts a, "tomorrow then, Beca?" through the stacks to which she receives nothing but a glare from the librarian at her outburst of sound.

* * *

The answer is five.

Five times is the amount of times an insanely pretty redhead can practically grope you before you lose it - although, there are also various other variables in play that may have lessened your resolve.

For example, its night-time and the grabbing corresponds with the librarians regularly scheduled break, meaning the library is empty except for you (and evidently her). Secondly, searching for the book had been a last minute decision as you were lying, ready for bed - meaning you're maybe, possibly, completely braless and you've found her hands are wandering higher with each encounter. Most importantly though, there's a certain momentum to her movements this time that has her hips grinding into your back and also a certain sound that she omits that makes the silent air crackle with electricity, charging your body with an ineffable sense of confidence. Enough confidence that has you demanding she put you to the floor only to have you hike her thighs around your waist and slam her into the very stack you'd spent a good few weeks blushing into.

She squeaks. You smirk. She wipes it away with a particularly sharp tug of your hair that has your lips crashing together. You've never fully understood first kiss clichés and while you don't feel fireworks or rainbows or whatever, you do feel like she's been tempting you to shore just to indulge herself in the sight of you crashing at the rocks beneath her feet.

It's the second that you feel your resolve crumbling, that you feel your hands wandering dangerously and your lips getting sloppy with desire that you pull back. Then you run. You run because you're not this kind of girl. You're the kind of girl who recites what she's going to say to strangers because you're nervous you'll mess up, not the kind of girl who rolls their hips into unsuspecting redheads and revels in the guttural growl it elicits.

Escaping is easy.

The memories that flash through your mind as you try to sleep that night - they're all encompassing and so bloody hard.

* * *

You shouldn't really go back there. You should find a new library, or move to a new country, or something. But you do go back. You go back because in the midst of losing your mind you forgot to pick up the exact thing you actually went there for.

You expect to see her there – probably just sitting with the blonde you've learnt is named Aubrey (and has a tongue that tastes like cinnamon because Stacie will not stop going on about). What you do not expect is to find her sitting against the shelf, _your shelf_ , legs crossed and fingers lazily swiping across a phone screen like she's been camping out for you for some time. Your entrance evidently isn't as surreptitious as you'd hoped because her eyes jump to yours the moment you take one step and she's hopping to her feet in an instant until you're face to face.

You salute. You then obviously proceed to roll your eyes at yourself for being such an awkward dork but she follows suit with this adorable grin and you can't even bring yourself to tease her because _my god!_

"You ran away."

"I did"

"Can I ask why?"

"I guess so, I'm not quite as sure that I'll be able to justify myself with an answer though" You're not good with words. Except that's not entirely true. You could write essays upon essays with effortless finesse. You could write down every feeling you had into a journal, so long as you imagined no one else would see it. You just can't do this – you can't look someone in the eye and articulate the thumping in your chest, or the residual heat that's still lingering in your loins from where their hands singed your skin the night before. But then she sighs and you mimic it with ease as you open your mouth to (likely) embarrass yourself. "I'm not the kind of girl that does _this_ "

"And what exactly is _this_?"

"This is me getting so completely and utterly overwhelmed by your hands on me that I can barely breathe, let alone control myself enough to not all but maul you in the library." That wasn't so bad. She was even smiling. That's good right?

"I wasn't complaining"

"But-"

"I also kind of, totally, was trying to get you all flustered because you do this adorable furrowed brow thing - so it was my fault. Although, I'm not going to act like having you get all dominant wasn't a delightful turn of events that I would unquestionably take part in again"

"That could be arranged." You go to take a step forward before catching yourself with a subtle shake of your head. You needed to focus. "But maybe not right now because I actually, really need to read that book" She follows your finger with a grin before encircling your body with her arms and a cheeky grin that has, your sure by now, ingrained itself into your brain.

You have to admit, you could totally get used to being this tall.


	8. Wait, You Aren't?

_Everyone's favourite trope – the times people thought they were dating vs. the one time they actually finally were._

* * *

He thinks you're dating. Your father thinks you're dating. He thinks that you and Chloe Beale are doing the horizontal tango and all the accompanying feelings and hand holding and stuff. You know he does because while he hasn't said a word he has this half smug, half knowing grin plastered on his face that tells you more than any words could.

Oh, and you know, there's the whole - _why don't you bring Chloe to dinner tonight_ \- thing that's more of an order than a question, but brings a lot of questions to the forefront of your mind because tonight is family dinner night. _Family_. You do not bring best friends and acapella group co-captains to family dinner night. You bring long time suitors that won't be scared away by the dysfunctional family dynamic and the slight disdain you obviously still maintain towards a certain stepmother.

You don't actually manage to say these things to him, however, because you're too busy floundering. That fact would be why you're currently standing about fifteen minutes off campus outside your own father's house, with Chloe who's holding some pretentious bottle of red wine and a nervous twitch that makes you think she knows that he thinks he knows despite you purposefully not telling her. And why are you making this so complicated? Just ignore it, eat the mediocre food, drink the obviously good wine and then leave.

Unless he makes a comment. Or an innuendo. Or suggests anything even remotely romantic. In these cases, plan B must be activated. Plan B obviously being throwing your chair through the window and diving straight out into the car and driving to Vermont or somewhere else you've no ties to (logistics could be figured out later).

Five minutes. It takes all of five minutes for everything to come crashing down and you can't even enact Plan B because while you've heard of mothers lifting cars off of their children in times like these, you can't quite gather the strength to throw a three seater sofa out of a window.

"Dinner smells delicious, Mr Mitchell. Thank you for inviting me"

"Please Chloe, call me Warren and it's a pleasure really – Beca never usually lets us meet the people she's dating" You face palm. You can't even control the action. Your body just knows that you're going to need a moment to compose, or at least a moment in which you don't have to look at Chloe gaping wordlessly at the statement.

"Dating?"

"Is that not what the kids call it these days?" Those kinds of questions are why you never ask, even just in your head, if things could possibly get any worse because they can (and they will).

"No, I think they still call dating _dating_. It's just that Beca and I - we're not dating. We're just friends"

"Oh?"

"Yeah" Pause. Awkward pause. Exceedingly awkward pause. Oven beep. You're on your feet and rushing to the kitchen in a second.

"Shelia, do you need any help? You look like help would be good"

It doesn't get any better from there. He definitely doesn't believe you. Maybe because Chloe was stealing green beans from your plate and graciously donating you her carrots. Maybe because now it's been said you can't stop thinking about dating Chloe, or the way her thumb strokes across your hand as you get agitated, or the foot that's running along your calf. Maybe because you can barely convince yourself that you wouldn't at least want to date Chloe.

But he totally started this whole thing and for that – he's an asshat.

* * *

You're being threatened. Well you're about to be – you're sure of it. You can't think of any other logical reason that would explain Aubrey leading you into the eerie woods alone, in the dead of night. You can't quite work out why though. You think being brought to the Lodge of Flipping Leaves, or whatever, would be punishment enough (especially when paired with the _I'm completely in love with you_ eyes being thrown between Aubrey and Stacie when the other one isn't looking).

Maybe you're in trouble for letting the Bella's go to shit, or for allowing Amy to hang from the rafters and not checking that she'd actually worn underwear for once. Maybe Aubrey just needed to release some of the tension that Stacie was instilling in her. Honestly it could have just been for old times' sake. You essentially thought of every possible reason she could have had for it apart from what actually came out of her mouth.

"I need you to know Mitchell that just because I'm not at Barden watching you, doesn't mean you can hurt her without physical consequences"

"I literally have no idea what you're going on about, Aubrey"

"Don't play dumb, Mitchell" You rack your brain for every possibility. 'Her' only really narrows it down to one of the Bella's but you're pretty sure you don't have the emotional hold over any of them to actually hurt them enough for Aubrey to care. "I'm talking about you and Chloe - I know you finally took your heads from your asses and got together and while I'm really happy for the two of you because it was a long time coming, you need to know that if you hurt her you're in for a world of pain"

"OK dude - firstly if you ever open a BDSM store make sure to call it that and secondly, and far more importantly, Chloe and I are just friends. No dating on the table. Nothing even remotely sexual either, other than the whole naked shower ambush thing" She cocked her head.

"Naked shower ambush?" You blush. Fuck. You were sure she would have told Aubrey.

"You're missing the point. We. Are. Not. Dating."

"Are you sure?" She asked with a furrowed brow and you openly laugh in her face.

"I think I'd know if we were dating, Bree" You walk away without another word, only you question every word you said to her the moment you slip back into the tent and feel Chloe's body instinctively move towards yours with a mumbled _you're freezing_ and a soft kiss pressed to your temple.

Oh shit.

* * *

Jesse has joined the bandwagon.

Of course you have to wonder how he even knows, or how he even thinks that he knows because you aren't. Contrary to, apparently incredibly popular belief, you are not dating Chloe Beale. You swear. You're just friends. Just two _legitimate_ gal pals. Except no one believes that. Exhibit C: the ex-boyfriend slash 'bi bro' slash whatever he has decided to call it this week.

"I'm glad you found someone" Is what he says, which in itself is already an annoying statement. It's a statement that suggests you needed someone to be happy without him, despite you knowing for a fact that it was you who ended the romantic side of the relationship. But aside from that it just confuses you. At first, you naïvely think he means he's glad the Bella's found Emily and started to find their sound again but that bliss doesn't last for very long because if the conversations you've found yourself partaking in, in the past few days have taught you anything, it's that he's talking about Chloe.

He's glad you've started dating Chloe is what that sentence translates to.

"I'm not dating, Chloe" You don't actually mean to say it. You mean to internally scream it and then plaster on a look of confusion and act like you're none the wiser. Evidently that didn't work, mostly because frustration is flooding out of you right now and why are they all suddenly deciding to comment on this whole situation now. You don't need this stress piled onto everything else.

"How did you know I meant Chloe then?" _Damn him_.

"Because apparently everyone is trying crack this week"

"What?" He chuckles and you groan until your head thuds into your hands.

"You're the third person to ask me about my relationship with Chloe this week and I'm going insane. I would find it bearable if we actually were dating because at least I'd get to reap the benefits but just for clarification – not dating" When you lift your head he's smirking and that never equals good things, it actually means the exact opposite and you're about three seconds from running away when he finally shatters the silence.

" _Reap the benefits?_ So you would want to?"

"Dude, shut up"

"As your self-assigned bi bro I can't just let this go, Becs." You roll your eyes but it only acts as the ammo he needs to load his grin. "You've gotta see that you two act like a couple. You hold hands and cuddle and you have matching tattoos-"

"Hold up, they're not matching they're just both insects, and regardless we had those before we even met"

"Still, you're basically dating and the whole shower thing freshman year isn't helping the case" _What? How did he?_

"Where did you hear that?" You're honestly getting sick of his smug little smile. If you didn't need to chug your coffee in order to even handle this day you would have poured it all over his pants.

"Apparently Aubrey can't keep secrets from Stacie and Stacie can't keep secrets from anyone so it's been getting around. Although, something tells me the version I heard isn't quite how it went down" You groan and happily hide your face back in your hands.

"I actually hate you all."

* * *

Emily. In hindsight you should have known she was Jesse's source. Emily plus Benji equals a knowing and mocking Jesse. It's just that she's so sweet and you can't imagine her outright gossiping about you, although she doesn't actually outright say it to you either, just sort of blurts out whatever she's thinking as per usual.

It comes this time as you and Chloe argue about what colour you would paint your hypothetical baby's room which, you will admit, is an incredibly charged conversation and you're not even sure how you ended up in it or how the separate babies in question had become just one shared baby that could only have one colour room (you still maintain that you will paint it mint green regardless of gender and not follow Chloe's gender stereotypes because the whole 'pink is a girls colour' thing is all due to Hitler and you don't endorse that nor can you forget it).

The whole thing isn't as big a deal as it seems though. The two of you get into stupid debates all the time – what flavour pancakes are the best, who's bed is the most comfortable, what song is best for a first dance. This is the first time you've have a theoretical child but you don't think anything of that until Emily opens her cute little mouth to just spill out whatever thoughts she's having at the time.

"You guys are such a cute couple" Usually you would brush it off. Maybe crack a sarcastic comment and then walk out of the room. Instead in that moment you take a second to analyse the situation and realise that Chloe's fork is halfway to your mouth as she attempts to force feed you pancakes before you leave before forgetting to eat again, and that she's wearing your WBUJ jumper and looking far better than you ever could, and that your arm is casually draped over the back of her chair because she scooted closer the moment you sat down and _fuck_. You squirm. Then you get uncomfortable.

"Chloe and I aren't together" It comes out stern. You weren't aiming for stern but you can see that it gets your point across when Emily shakes her head confusedly.

"But you guys are so? And the whole shower thing?"

"Will everyone just cool it with the shower thing? It was just a naked duet, big whoop! Yes, I've seen all of that and yes she should be proud of it but it doesn't mean anything and why are we even bringing it up now, it was y-"

"Becs, it's not a big deal." You want to complain that it is. It is a big deal that no one will let this go and that they're all going around making up ludicrous stories about Chloe and you in the shower (if she had heard Amy's version like you had she'd be freaking out too). But you don't say a word because you're too busy being enraptured by her calming hands running along your back and the serene smile she produces just for you.

You're so whipped and you're not even dating.

* * *

It's worse when you don't know the person. It's exceedingly worse when said person is your doctor and begins to ask your best friend, probable crush and assumed girlfriend to fill out the sex life questionnaire about you to save time since "she should know". Part of you thinks that he can't actually have said that and you had to have imagined up this whole situation because is that even allowed to happen in the event that the two of you actually were… intimate. He definitely did say it though because Chloe winks and the devious smirk she has plastered on her face makes you both sexually confused and nervous.

"Oh totes." You could hit her.

"Fantastic. Right this way then Miss Mitchell." As if this whole process wasn't shitty enough you return to an incredibly colorful sexual history sheet and a hysterical Chloe who thinks this is the best thing ever.

"Two point five sexual partners? How exactly can I have had half a sexual partner?"

"I really wouldn't know, Becs. I mean it's your sexual history not mine"

"You're so weird"

"But that's why you love me. That's also why at the bottom I listed that you like things a little freaky in the additional comments bit. I don't actually think that's what that space was for but I thought I'd make the most with what I was given" You hit her with the clipboard before ripping up the sheet and requesting a new one. You can't help but notice that she's exceptionally interested in your actual answers as her eyes track each movement of the pen.

Why did you bring her here?

* * *

They announced it to the acapella community. You're not actually sure how big that is. You know it isn't fourteen girls in glee club like you used to imagine but something tells you it keeps getting bigger and that a hell of a lot of people have been following your story since muff gate so probably a lot. Gail and John announce your relationship on their podcast. A relationship that doesn't even exist. To everyone. At this point you think even President Obama believes you're dating Chloe Beale.

"Once again Bella co-captains Beca Mitchell and Chloe Beale lead Barden to victory and claim back their dignity and what a beautiful couple they are, right John?"

"You are so right, Gail. I can't even begin to imagine the harmonies they make in the bedroom"

"That's disgusting John, but I totally agree"

This needed to stop.

* * *

You're rinsing the shampoo from your hair when a cold breeze prickles your skin and you vaguely register the clicking of the shower door behind you. You know it's Chloe in an instant and not for some telepathic couple thing, you just know that no one else would dare get into your shower – or really any of the Bella's for that matter. There's also the shower ambush of 2012 that everyone seems to be talking about recently.

"Why do I feel like this has happened before?" You quip because you need something to distract yourself from turning around and seeing… all that. You don't think you can handle all that again without going insane.

"This was how I got you to audition for the Bella's. You're welcome by the way. Oh, and once again that was a beautiful performance" You chuckle and almost forget where you are until you look over your shoulder and see her. Until you watch the water droplets roll down her neck and into-

You fling your head back to the wall.

"Ah so you're sticking to the classics?"

"Why mess with what works?" You don't even need to turn around to picture the one shouldered shrug she would have offered you. Instead you grab the conditioner and continue on because you might as well resolve this before you can't hold yourself back anymore.

"What do you need this time?"

"You to tell me why you've been so jumpy" You wince before realizing you need to play this cool. Just be Beca Mitchell. Sarcastic Beca Mitchell who avoids these kinds of conversations for a living.

"Perhaps it's because I'm constantly waiting for you to jump me naked" Not a lie. Totally not a lie. You have been thinking about the two of you naked a lot recently. In various places. Doing one thing in a variety of ways.

"Seriously, Becs" Her hand is pressing reassuringly into your shoulder and she's staring straight into your eyes when you risk looking back. God, she was smart to do this in the shower. You have no way to possibly escape so you turn around fully. You don't even have time to register the way her eyes greedily take in your form before words are being forced out of your mouth.

"Everyone thinks we're dating" You shouldn't have said it. You didn't mean to. The plan was to subtly bring it up and get Chloe to comment on it so you could escape at anytime with the pretense of it being her conversation. Obviously your plans haven't been working out so well recently (see: current shower predicament). Probably because you're too busy freaking out about this whole thing to actually concentrate of executing them. Probably also because Chloe seems to like plans about as much as she likes social boundaries – such as the rules of showering (one again see: current shower predicament).

"Okay?"

"That's all you're going to say to that?"

"What do you want me to say, Becs? Yeah people think we're a couple but we know we're not so no big deal right?" She looks disheartened and this isn't how you imagined this conversation going. Although, you never imagined having this conversation in the shower either so you evidently can't control anything in your life anymore.

"It doesn't bother you that everyone thinks we're a couple?"

"Does it bother me that everyone thinks I managed to seduce you – no. I think of it as more of a compliment. Obviously you're quite bothered by it though." That sounded incredibly accusatory and somewhat… hurt?

"I'm not"

"Then why are we having this conversation rather than ignoring the comments just like we have been for the past three years?" _Three years?_ This has been happening for _three years?_ How have you only just noticed? How bad are the two of you?

"Because I'm starting to get really confused and I'm far less annoyed that they all think it and more so that we aren't actually dating because I can't stop thinking about it. About us. About you." Well that was unexpected and the words came from your mouth. You should have thought this through more. On Chloe's part she just stands there. Well, in actuality, she stumbles into the glass with a silent thud and an almost imperceptible gasp trembles from her lips as she struggles for what to say next. "Chlo-" You start but then she's holding her hand up and thank God really because you had no idea where you were going to go with that and you're both still very naked so it probably wouldn't have been very comprehensive.

"How on Earth has it taken you three years, Beca Mitchell?" She sounds exasperated but you don't really have much time to dwell on it, what with her stepping straight into you and crashing you into the wall with her lips against yours. This wasn't quite how you imagined your first kiss with Chloe going. You couldn't have imagined the ways her lips slipped into yours like jigsaw pieces or how her hair would tickle your collarbone. Most of all you definitely didn't imagine the feel of her body pressing against yours. It's fitting though, that this would all come to pass in a shower - one that she invaded.

You don't regret taking charge and pressing her into the glass when she squeaks into your mouth and slips her hands _far, far_ lower than your neck. You do regret it in the seconds later however, when the Bella's, led by Amy, stumble through the bathroom door with a shouted " _KNEW IT!"_

You might avoid showers for a little bit.

And people.


	9. A Real Hoot

You think you're a good person. You always give money to the homeless dude outside your office that you're fairly sure just sits and waits for you now. You donate at least half of all your big pay checks to some kind of charity. You've never stolen, or cheated - be that on a test or a person - or done anything bad really. So yes, you are essentially a good person and that's the reason you can't comprehend why your mother keeps doing this to you.

What must you have done in a past life or to her in your unknowing childhood, to have deserved this?

You know the answer is that she thinks she's doing you a favor. Your mother can't imagine her _little Beca Bee_ not having someone and you haven't had a serious someone for about six months now (which is evidently about eight years on the _I want grandchildren_ clock and the exact reason why she's freaking way more than usual). Her intense panic is undoubtedly why her setup skills are diminishing with each new date she picks out. You really should start saying no and dodging her calls but then she shows up at your office and your house and your grocery store because she's seemingly mapped out your entire schedule for instances just like this.

The fun began with Christina, and while of course you have to appreciate that your mother took the whole bisexual thing on board, you didn't quite mean _'set me up with the girl who continuously mocked me in high school for four fucking years'_ \- how she found her you will never know (it was definitely Facebook). The sheer stubbornness had both of us refusing to be the first to admit how awkward the whole situation was is how you ended up sneaking out of her apartment in the early hours and showering until the sun rose in an attempt to wash away the sin.

Next was Gavin. Your first thought with that one was that no one called Gavin could be that bad, especially if your mother kept going on about how he was _such a nice boy_. If the wandering (and frankly sweaty) hand that touched your thigh right after he all but fucked the waitress with his eyes was anything to go by Gavin really wasn't such a nice boy.

Your third date - not actually so bad.

Date number three brought you to Stacie Conrad, astrophysicist extraordinaire that was practically made of legs. You guys actually had fun together, mocking the other patrons and making up stories of their lives based upon the most trivial of things. Stacie was funny, and kind, and obviously irrevocably in love with someone else, hence why your date ended with you driving to some blondes house and allowing Stacie to climb onto your shoulders and quote lines from Romeo and Juliet to the woman you discovered was named Aubrey. You actually made two friends out of that one though, so you know, Mom 1 - Blind Dates 2.

Date four was not successful. Suitor number four your mother discovered buying sriracha and kale in some pretentious and expensive store whilst wearing sunglasses indoors and being legitimately named Dax. That one went pretty much downhill from the moment he starting talking about his vintage bassoon and crashed and burned with the parting peace sign.

To say that you were expecting date five to be the worst evening of your life would quite easily be the understatement of the decade. Quite honestly you were expecting something akin to World War 3, like the second one hyped up on LSD and with ten times more racism. You weren't exactly wrong (you know, minus the lack of dictatorship and general genocide… Okay, so it was completely different but still fucking terrible).

Date five was at Hooters. Now don't get it wrong, you love Hooters. They have awesome buffalo shrimp and overt yet oddly subtle boob, and you're a self confessed boob man. But you don't go to Hooters on a date, even you, the socially inept and emotionally crippled recluse, know that.

You personally go to Hooters when you don't want to get hit on or want to hide away from particularly annoying paparazzi because no one ever dares look for you there. You push through though, because you promised your mother and she keeps tricking you into these double bind situations where you can't win, and you are twenty six years old for God's sake, why can't you just say no (short answer; you're a sucker for puppy dog eyes).

You spot _Thomas call me Tom_ sitting in a corner booth staring at a football game like his life depends on it, already onto what looks like his third beer, and you immediately know that you're going to have to catch up to make this evening at least somewhat bearable – it's said thought that has you swerving from your original course and using the spare four minutes you have before having to enter the gates of Hell to head to the bar.

"Can I have like three shots of whatever and then just stick my head under a keg?" Thankfully the bartender chuckles at your comment instead of just staring at you like you've lost your mind as she grabs a clear liqueur and lines up the shots. You vaguely register that she's kind of, totally, beautiful from the cascading red hair, to the deviously blue eyes staring right your way.

"I can't offer you the keg but this is the strongest stuff we have on the shelf" She's grinning at you as you polish off the liquid in a matter of seconds and then she's pouring more without question, and you could quite possibly kiss this woman. You push one back her way and mimic her cocked eyebrow until she picks it up and follows your routine. "Bad day?" She questions once she's slammed the glass back down on the counter.

"Actually no, my day's been pretty awesome. I just have this feeling it's about to get really, really bad." Your day had been going well, you signed a new client, successfully avoided being roped in another movication from Jesse, and now you were at least semi-drinking with a ridiculously pretty redhead. But your luck was running out, as was your time.

"Oh so you're preparing yourself for the worst?"

"Aim low and avoid disappointment."

"Or get drunk and forget you were disappointed all together"

"Exactly!" You're both smiling again, and then she's reaching up to the top shelf and selecting a new amber colour liquid and my God, you're now definitely willing to kiss her. You almost forget about the probable douche bag when her smile turns devious and she pours four new shots.

"Well who am I to stop such a solid plan. Tequila?"

"Hit me" You once again shift one towards her but this time you don't reach for your own straight away, which is both a mistake and a victory, as you watch her throat stretch and bob as she throws it back, finishing with a purposefully slow lick of her lips, all the while maintaining impossible eye contact. You throw yours back quicker than before in an attempt to erase her gaze from your mind; because there is no way you can sit on this stupid date with that playing over and over again in your tiny bisexual brain.

"So Little Miss Tattooed and Mysterious, what has you prepping for your inevitable downfall?" She looks genuinely curious and it's stark contrast from the look she was sporting just a second earlier, it's a look that has your stomach fluttering in a way it hasn't since Callie Smith gave you a kiss on the cheek in fourth grade.

"It's Beca. And a blind date conjured by my mother." She winces. Actually winces. You knew you weren't overreacting.

"At Hooters?" You nod dejectedly.

"Hence the alcohol, although you probably shouldn't be mocking your workplace… Chloe."

"You're totes right, I _so_ wouldn't want to be fired from Hooters." You snort. You legitimately snort, and it's the blush that crawls up your neck that kick starts your brain in action and reminds you why you're actually here. You put a fifty on the counter and ignore the raise of her eyebrows at the excessive tip as she puts it through the till.

"I should definitely go. Wish me luck?"

"Good luck." You push off from the bar and begin to head towards the battlefield until the sound of her voice has you stopping dead in your tracks and turning back. "Oh and Beca, if it's really terrible I'm on the clock for another hour." You smirk all the way to your date's table.

"Hi, you're Tom I presume? I'm Beca" He grins a grin that you suppose is supposed to be boyish and charming, and it might well work on others girls, heck it may have worked on you once, before you began the _'World's Worst Blind Date's'_ tour. Now it just makes you feel kind of dirty. Not quite as much as the first sentence out of his mouth does, however.

"Wow, you're way hotter than I expected from your mom" Well that was… unexpectedly crass _and_ an excellent indicator of how this whole thing was going to go - which is to say like utter shit. The worst part about the introduction though has to be that he followed up the sentence by actually gathering the nerve to kiss you on the cheek as he gestured for you to scoot into the booth opposite him.

The date did not get better from there. It actually got worse. So, so much worse, which is why an hour and ten minutes into your torture session (you don't know how you lasted so long) you found yourself in the bathroom trying to figure out some way to escape without him noticing, or you actually having to tell him you're leaving, because you're very much expecting him to try and kiss you and you're not prepared for that crap today. The look on your face must be priceless if the deep chuckle from behind you is anything to go by.

"That bad, huh?" You swirl round and immediately release a sigh of relief when you clock a certain redhead leaning against a stool door.

"I'm currently planning my escape route if that tells you anything."

"It's a start. Although I'm kind of tempted to ask for a play by play of the evening because you don't seem like the kind of girl who runs away" You cock an eyebrow at her statement.

"And just what kind of girl do I seem like?" Her smile is almost predatory as she slips further into your personal space, it only widens as you stumble back slightly into the sinks in an attempt to put some space between you to keep your mind clear.

"If you'd asked me an hour ago when I watched you down shots like water and smirk like you knew all my secrets I may have called you a badass, but after all the stuttering and bathroom hideouts I'm gonna have to call your bluff and say you're a total bottom." You definitely choke a little on your own spit but you need to focus. You need to get the hell out of here before he realises you've gone too long and you lose your chance.

"Okay, Red, now is not the time to get all sultry and subtly manipulate me into trying to prove my complete and total topness, now is the time to help me out of that window" You point above you and she laughs but reaches to unlatch it anyway before ducking to boost you up and out of the hole. You dip your head back through a second later and catch the wistful smile playing on her lips before you clear your throat and hand her your card.

"My personal numbers on the back, you should call me some time, if only so I can go on a date that isn't blind and ultimately doomed"

"Oh I'll totes be calling, I'm hoping to see if you can back up your claims of dominance."

"You won't be disappointed." You wink before pushing off from the ground and all but running to your car in your haste to escape.

So maybe it wasn't the worst evening of your life.

Although you still maintain that blind dates can suck your dick.


	10. Luck or Oh Fuck!

_A/N - It occurred to me that I haven't said thank you for all of your reviews yet - so thanks. Honestly, having someone quote your work back to you is an awesome feeling. Anyway, back to our regularly scheduled homosexuality (Oh, and I'll definitely look into writing a sequel to the last chapter)._

* * *

It's not your fault that it keeps happening. You want to put that out there. Everyone should know that you are totally not doing this on purpose. And it can't even be remotely blamed on you anyway because a lot of it keeps occurring in your own home, so you can't be held accountable for weird actions – you're supposed to do all kinds of weird shit at home to get it out of your system, that's how you avoid being bullied when you start your formative years an only child without a sibling to beat you down. Although, now bordering the years of adulthood no one would dare mess with you, and you have a sibling (albeit a step one) and things are completely different to the way they used to be, except one thing still remains – you have every right to do weird shit in your own home.

The thing is though; the first time you embarrass yourself in front of Chloe Beale – _the Chloe Beale_ – you weren't even doing anything weird. You should probably give some context into the whole thing though. The essential components of the situation were that Chloe Beale was quite easily the most beautiful girl you'd ever come across, and yes that is totally cliché and embarrassing, but also completely true (although you would never admit it out loud because you had a reputation of hatred and badassery to uphold).

She was also undoubtedly the most popular girl at school, and not because she was head cheerleader or valedictorian, those titles were owned by her best friend, but purely because she was nice. She was popular because she smiled at the science nerds, and took part in school plays, and stuck at sitting next to me in every AP class by choice without even trying to copy my hastily scribbled answers as I finished work between naps. Essentially she was totally perfect, the exact reason the complete and total mortification of the first situation was so crippling.

Stacie and her mom had moved in three months prior, and it was actually kind of awesome because you liked Stacie, and you liked not hearing your parents bicker constantly. You didn't like the hushed whispers of Stacie and Aubrey at all hours of the night as they tried to figure out how to continue to keep their relationship secret for some reason (based upon the espionage skills displayed as they woke the whole house attempting to sneak Aubrey through the front door, you wouldn't be going to them to keep secrets anytime soon).

So the newly formed family thing was going really well, up until the moment you realized Stacie doesn't ask to have friends over, or at least give you advanced warning to expect guests in the home before noon on a Saturday. Said… forgetfulness is what has you carelessly bounding down the stairs singing Titanium with nothing but your pajamas on. Now, you may think that doesn't sound so bad, and it doesn't, until you factor in the fact that your pajamas consisted of a _"Say Hey if you're Gay_ " shirt and Spider-man boxers. Oh, and aforementioned guests are Stacie's secret (not so secret) gal pal and Chloe Beale. _The Chloe Beale_.

"Hey." _Chloe._ You almost manage to say it back in your attempt to act casual, except then it occurs to you the shirt you're wearing. Then you happen to clock the wink she throws your way. The one that looks suspiciously alluring, and while you were probably reading way too much into it, you still find yourself stumbling into the kitchen, knocking various items off their perch and gradually morphing into some kind of tomato-human hybrid with the intensity of your blush.

You should never leave your room

Ever.

* * *

As if that situation wasn't worthy enough for the world to swallow you up and die, things kept happening. Beca Mitchell's Greatest Embarrassments: Part 2 happened during lunch, which is totally sad because you love lunch and now it's tainted with a less than delicious memory.

You don't usually make a habit of sitting so close to the so called 'popular' table despite being offered a place on it upon many occasions. Generally you sit on the corner table and listen to Amy go on about her outrageous stories of the outback, and Emily's quiet scribble in her notebook whilst Benji studies her meticulously and Jesse see's how much food he can throw into his mouth. Basically you sit with a bunch of goofballs and blend into the surroundings – you reiterate, you love lunch.

Except today they all decided that the popular table was the exact place to be sitting directly next to, and spotting Baloney Barb in your usual corner tells you everything you need to know, so you can't exactly blame them. You will though. You will definitely blame them. You also want to blame Chloe for coming out with some ludicrous pun that's impossible not to laugh at, if only because she delivers it with such fervor and receives nothing but groans in return (except from you of course).

"I'm terrified for next period, apparently the lab smells crazily like eggs today" Is how it begins, and you're not exactly eavesdropping, you're just happening upon words in another conversation.

"At least we'll all be _sulphuring_ together." As if the fact that you were legitimately drinking milk wasn't bad enough, the joke made you laugh so abruptly that it came out your nose. _Your nose_. Milk actually came out of your nose. Oh, and she was watching. Chloe Beale watched milk squirt from your nose and it was completely humiliating. Except, she wasn't laughing. In fact, she looked kind of fond as she grinned at you before having her gaze stolen from yours by Aubrey who was muttering about how the joke was completely ridiculous. You personally thought the fact that she thought you couldn't see her hand on Stacie's leg was the most ridiculous thing occurring that lunchtime, but you don't question it – you're just happy no one else paid attention to the milk incident.

Apart from everyone on your table.

You thank Christ for the bell but apparently your luck isn't really that good because as if the snort explosion and subsequent mocking wasn't bad enough, it didn't go unmentioned like the pants singing. In fact, it was very much mentioned, pretty much from the exact moment she took her seat on the bench beside you.

"So you liked my science joke, huh? I have loads more up my sleeve, you wanna grab your milk now and we can start?"

"Dude, seriously?" You roll your eyes in her general direction but she only grins harder at the sight, nudging your shoulder with her own in a way that has your heart racing both from the sheer proximity and the fear that you're going to fall from your precarious position on your stool.

"Obvs, who wouldn't want to experience the great Beca Mitchell laughing again. Especially since you looked so adorable with the milk shooting out of your nose." Was that a compliment? About my milk snorting abilities?

"Adorable?"

"Oh, totes. Which is a nice change since usually you're so hot you denature my proteins" Was she flirting? Oh God what if she was flirting? What do you even say to flirting? What do you say to Chloe Beale's flirting?

"Shut up." Good one, Mitchell. Smooth as fuck.

"Oh come on, Beca, think like a proton – always positive" She was such a dork. Why were you crushing on such a massive dork?

"Chlo, stop it" Her grin faltered before it was replaced by one twice the size and your heart almost jumped from your chest.

"You never call me Chlo"

"Sorry"

"No, don't be, I liked it. But, since we're on nickname basis, you've got to give something back to this relationship." You don't know why it's the first one in your head. Actually, scrap that, you definitely know why it's the first one you think of, you just don't quite know why you actually say it out loud. Probably because you have all these secret self destructing tendencies you're learning about with each new interaction with your favourite redhead.

"If I were an enzyme I'd be DNA helicase so I could unzip your genes." You've never been more thankful that a teacher began class than in that moment, because you have no choice but to tear your eyes away from Chloe's hanging jaw, and focus on anything other than the hitch in her breath in the silence following your words.

You have to admit this whole thing was maybe getting less embarrassing and more heated.

 _But_ you are still willing to crawl into a hole and hide for a few months until it all blows over.

* * *

Scrap all hope you may have had.

You are mortified.

You can't say you haven't dreamed about being in the position you ended up in, but you have to admit you didn't see it going this way – you had pictured something far more sensual or at least less likely to make you move to Canada to escape.

Just to clarify, your face was in her crotch. Chloe Beale's crotch. You had tripped, and you had fallen… head first, into her crotch, and you were now fully willing to be sucked into the pits of Tartarus. Or just straight up murdered. Anything really. Anything that didn't mean you had to lift your face from her region and face the proverbial music. You weren't going to be saved from this though. The only solace you really had was that it had occurred in your own home and not at school. But regardless, you really needed to lift your head as soon as possible to avoid being called a creep, or being accused of purposefully putting your head right there.

You spring up without a second thought.

"I'm so sorry, Chloe. I'm a klutz and I fell, as you obviously know because my face was all up in your-" You make a vague gesture towards her lady garden with a vicious blush. Why did you just so that? Sorry would have been good enough, just a simple " _Sorry, Chloe. I fell"_ not an ogling of the crotch you'd already face planted into. Fuck.

"It's totally fine, Becs. Although maybe buy me dinner first next time – I don't want people think I'm easy."

"Oh no, of course not, definitely don't want that." She's smiling easily at you, and that was the moment you should have left with a simple step to your left and through the kitchen door to hide for a few moments to compose yourself, and then return well fed and clear minded. You did not do that. Apparently your brain was so fried that you had no real concept of space, hence you stepping directly into the coffee table and tripping over – straight back into her lap. Thankfully, you were sitting on it this time instead of flying head first. Not so thankfully, you were sitting on her lap and her arms were wrapped around your waist and her face was so goddamn close to your own and-

"Holy fuck" You just said that out loud. Way to go genius.

"You know, I'm starting to feel like you're doing this on purpose. Throwing yourself at me with the guise of being clumsy." You dip your head with a groan, only that is your next mistake because it brings your forehead to hers, and she tightens her grip at the contact until you can feel her body pressing into yours.

You worry that she can feel your heart thudding in your chest when her eyes dip towards your lips, but it doesn't really matter because you have to be dreaming. This cannot be real. She can't be leaning closer with each breath. You can't be able to taste the mint on her tongue. She can't be slipping her hands ever so slightly under the hem of your shirt. You can't be gently brushing her hair behind her ear in the second before your lips should touch. This cannot be real. Except, then the kitchen door flings open and Stacie and Aubrey look guilty and disheveled, and you're jumping up from your spot on Chloe's lap and it's definitely real.

 _Shit._

 _It's real._

* * *

You're avoiding her. Well, not really avoiding per se. You went about your day in much the same way, because your paths don't really cross all that much. And let's say maybe you talked your AP Bio teacher into letting you complete the work at home because you weren't 'feeling well'. So, you weren't avoiding, you were just tactically saving yourself the awkward conversation in which she explained that she wasn't really into you, it just got a little too heated, and it was a spur of the moment thing because lets be serious – Chloe Beale couldn't possibly want you.

 _Could she?_

Your 'not avoiding' avoidance was actually going quite well until Stacie stuck you in it. You imagine she hadn't actually realised what she was doing when she brought Chloe home because she usually had your back, like you had hers. Chloe probably did that adorable smile where her nose crinkles up, or gave her those infamous puppy dog eyes, or just wore a low cut top and hoped for the best as she snuck her way into Stacie's subconscious, and convinced her to let her into your home because there was no way you were going to actually go open the door for her. You're not that stupid. Apparently you're an uncoordinated, milk snorter, but you're not stupid.

You did occasionally do stupid things though. Like, maybe, having your music playing so loud from your computer that you don't hear people walking through the front door, or the quiet footfalls from the stairs, or the parting conversation that leads to one particular person knocking gently on your door before pushing it open. You definitely did not hear these things. And you not hearing these things is the exact reason why said person stepped through your door just as you were halfway changed, and thus standing dead in the middle of your room, in nothing but the matching black lace underwear that was the first thing you happened upon in your drawer this morning. As things go, you actually got pretty lucky, because if this shit had happened yesterday you would have been wearing Captain Marvel underwear - Brightside and all that.

You don't scream as you turn around. You maybe squeal a tiny bit before shutting your laptop and just standing there, but you don't scream.

You're not quite sure why your first instinct is to shut your laptop and not, in fact, put some fucking clothes on but it is. You somehow still don't put your clothes on after though, probably because you're too busy trying to form a coherent sentence to explain yourself. Except… you don't have to explain yourself. It's perfectly reasonable for you to be changing in your own bedroom, and not so much for _the Chloe Beale_ to waltz right in and then just stand there, staring at you from across the room.

"Can I ask why you're in my bedroom?" You place your hands on your hips – you think it's supposed to be a dominance pose, you're fairly sure you heard Aubrey say that once when you were actually listening to the words coming out of her mouth. Chloe doesn't look intimidated though. You actually can't quite place the look on her face as her throat bobs with a gulp and her legs squirm momentarily.

"I-I, erm. I came-"She winces and you watch her eyes darken as she reopens them. "I w- I wanted. To talk… about y-yesterday and the whole lap falling, head leaning thingamajig and stuff, things and _oh God_! Can you cover something?! Literally anything because I'm about three seconds away from coming over there dragging my lips along every inch of your body." You understand the look on her face in the instant you feel your own throat constrict painfully with each breath that follows the statement.

This was actually happening. Chloe Beale. The Chloe Beale was actually stumbling over her words because of you. This was real. This was a once in a lifetime, one in a million situation and it was happening to you.

Fuck it.

"What if I want you to?" You almost shock yourself when the words husk from your throat, but it's worth it to watch her breath hitch as she takes a few tentative steps towards you.

"Well that would be bad, because I came here to talk and you won't be able to do much talking when I'm done with you."You're not proud of the moan that escapes your lips in that moment. You are, however, extremely proud of how quickly it gets Chloe to cross the space between the two of you and haphazardly push you on the edge of the bed.

"We can totally just chat if you'd like." You remark with a smirk and revel in the growl she sends your way before she slips to rest between your legs.

Maybe you were finally starting to have some luck without the embarrassment.

 _THUD!_

Or not.


	11. Frazzled Minds & Coffee Grinds

A/N - What would an AU collection be without at least a little coffee shop goodness?

* * *

Are you in a bad mood? Yes, of course you are. When you walk into that coffee shop you're in a terrible mood, and not just because you haven't sipped the sweet nectar of caffeine yet, or because you're up so freaking early. No. You're in a terrible mood because your day has been going on for an hour and it's already the single worst day of your life (and yes, yes you are including the day your parents told you they were getting a divorce and the time your gynaecologist complimented your vagina).

Your father called you this morning which, in itself, sucks ass but pairing that with the conversation topic – it wasn't fairing well. Your brother was getting married, and you know, _yay!_ and stuff but that meant going to a family gathering, answering questions about your life, and obviously more importantly your lack of boyfriend and ticking biological clock (because God forbid they except the lesbian thing for one moment). Then, as if that wasn't enough, as soon as you managed to convince him to get off the phone to allow you to go back to sleep and forget all about that crap for one minute, Jesse called. Usually when Jesse calls it isn't so bad. You don't tell him that obviously. You grumble and moan but generally end up smiling because he's a goofball and his attempts at capturing undying love are hilarious. Today though, today you weren't feeling it, especially as he called only to coerce you into the studio to remix a track that was already perfect because the stupid movie producers wanted more _"pizzazz"._

To be frank, a lot of your anger lies in that final statement because that track was flawless, and you were honestly insulted that they wanted you to do anything to it at all, let alone the shit you knew they were trying to push down your throat.

Anyway, you walked into the coffee shop angry and incredibly tired. Your head was hanging low and you were bored of queuing, which like, who would even want to be a coffee shop this early and not hiding out in their apartment avoiding life? By the time you eventually hit the counter, you're moving purely on reflex until a chipper voice breaks through your reverie.

"Hi, welcome to Barden Barista's, what can I get you?" With an incredible amount of effort, you manage to lift your head to the redhead at the counter, whose smile is honestly far too bright for this time of day (and also kind of ridiculously comforting at the same time, which is actually completely uncomfortable because at what point did strangers smiles make you feel warm?) You should probably reply though, like that would be a stellar idea instead of continuing to stare her down because it was probably getting a little weird.

"Hi, I'll just have an Americano, please" Her grin gets even brighter, as though the laws of psychics are being completely destroyed, as she taps in your order.

"And what's the name?"

"Beca" You shift along the counter, needlessly after you've paid and thrown far too much into the tip jar, and note that you were exactly the last customer in that monster queue . Figures. You want to fall asleep against the wood. Well actually, you want to skip the coffee all together and go back to bed but you'd settle for sleeping on the counter for a few minutes. Like a power nap. You don't get a chance for a nap, however, when the redhead returns with a knowing smile and a playful wink.

"There's an extra shot in there, on the house, I just couldn't live with myself if you fell asleep while walking across the street." You take it with a smile that feels foreign on your face and an odd flutter in your chest when your fingers touch that makes you think you could quite possibly be dying – probably from the ridiculously early wake-up call.

It's not until you've made it to the studio that you gain enough consciousness to focus on the cup in your hands and find your name misspelled on the side.

 _Becca._

It really shouldn't annoy you all that much.

It totally does though.

* * *

Barden Barista's isn't your usual coffee shop. Usually you'll go to the one across the street from the studio with the overpriced scones (that taste like ass) and the hipsters in beanbag chairs – yes, beanbag chairs. But you return there anyway. Partially because the redhead makes awesome coffee apparently, but also because calling her the redhead in your mind is starting to annoy you so you'd like to see her name badge. Oh, and you have the incessant need to get her to spell your name right on the cup which is ridiculous. You're being ridiculous. In any case you do step through that door and cringe at the bell that rings out above your head because maybe you have a colossal hangover. Maybe (definitely, though you will deny that to your dying breath).

Thankfully the café is void of rowdy teens or chatty old people. It's basically a place of dreams.

"Hi, how can I help?" Chloe. Her name is Chloe. It suits her, you think, you can't explain why but it kinda just makes sense. It also suits you that task one is complete and that her chipper tone isn't adding to your headache but instead lulling it into the background. Maybe you should just never leave this heaven.

"A large of whatever makes my head pound less, if you wouldn't mind." She laughs before tapping some buttons and getting to work.

"Do you not want me to pay you?"

"Oh no, you look like you could use a pick-me-up and free coffee is always awesome." You deposit the note into the tip jar instead and attempt to ignore the particularly large smile she sends your way as she watches it drop in.

"It's Beca, by the way. One C."

"Awes, I'm Chloe, one C too." She's grinning at you like she knows exactly what you're doing and she's going to pointedly ignore it. It's ludicrously attractive to be honest.

"Thanks for telling me, I'd totally have starting writing it with a K." She rolls her eyes as she pushes the cup your way with an easy chuckle and a far too casual lean over the counter to push your sunglasses back over your eyes.

"Caramel latte with a pump of white chocolate, it's kinda sweet but it does the trick."

"I don't mind sweet." You find yourself saying, and thank all the gods that you're hungover enough to pass that off as stupidity.

"Good to know" She replies with a wink and you use the stumble it causes to walk straight back out the door.

It's not until you're halfway down the road that you look at the words scrawled on the side of the cup.

 _Becka_

You were going to have to come back.

If only to rectify this injustice.

* * *

You go back the next day. Somehow you're not toppling over out of tiredness, or hungover. You are, however, wearing the world's most hideous sweater, but in your defense your assistant Emily had knitted it as a present for you being an awesome boss and helping her put together a track (which was totally for your benefit because she's crazy talented and it got you out of dinner with Jesse and his flavour of the month). The point is that you couldn't very well refuse it, nor could you put it away and never let her see you in it since she obviously tried so hard to knit your initials into the damn thing. You had to wear it at some point so you simply threw it on right in front of her and proclaimed you loved it. To be fair, it was comfy as hell and it was at least mostly black.

"I love the sweater."

"Can I have a coffee before you start mocking strangers?" She has the audacity to feign hurt for a moment, dramatically raising her hand to her chest and releasing a chocked sob.

"We're definitely not strangers, Beca." You think it's a little odd that she remembers your name. Obviously you're not complaining. It's just that you've only been in here three times and it's a busy place. She has no reason to remember your name so early.

"You can't even spell my name so I'd say we are." She smirks. Downright smirks. Then she turns her back to you, prepares a coffee and pointedly watches you as she scrawls letters onto the cup and faces it your way.

 _Beca._

"Are we friends now?" You would hit the smile off her face if she didn't look so goddamn adorable – which is not a thing you just thought. You were being so queerballs about this girl.

"Acquaintances maybe" You throw your own smirk her way and place your money on the counter.

"We're gonna be fast friends, Becs. Just you wait." You won't lie, that actually sounded kinda nice. You don't dignify it with words though. Instead you do some weird, nerdy salute as you duck out the door, and you're sure you looked like an idiot, but as you gaze back through the window you can't help but think she's burning ten times brighter than the summer sun.

So queerballs.

* * *

You decide to do work there, which is obviously a terrible idea. You know it's a terrible idea because you're just going to spend the entire time pretending you're not staring at her while you're obviously staring at her. On the Brightside though, you don't have to suffer through everyone trying to give you their artistic ideas about your album. So maybe you'll get the usual amount of work done and get to enjoy her face.

What is happening to you? You're such a creeper.

"The illusive Beca has returned and with a laptop this time."

"Figured I'd honor you with my presence for more than two minutes. Also, I needed to escape everyone at the studio." Her brow cocks inquisitively and you almost shrink beneath the genuine interest in her gaze.

"Studio?"

"I make music, well, I produce music." The smile she sends your way almost has you toppling over the counter between you. It strikes you that she actually seems genuinely excited to learn that you make music instead of questioning your livelihood and how it can be considered a real job to "fiddle with sounds" as your grandma would say.

"Anything I would have heard?"

"Maybe." You reply mockingly serious and you're rewarded with a low chuckle as she leans imperceptibly closer to you.

"Cryptic, I like it. Maybe when you're done today you'll let me have a listen? I can repay you in Southern charm and artistically crafted coffee – I just cracked the three dimensional panda foam if you're feeling particularly frisky." You can't help but laugh at her suggestive tone because what kind of person can make foam animals sound sordid? What kind of person can make you think unspeakable things whilst talking about adorable fluffy animals and coffee? Apparently a certain redhead barista with an adorably salacious grin and a too low cut top for your little gay heart to handle.

"What kind of self respecting human would I be if I didn't take you up on that offer."

"You won't regret it. Now go sit down and get mixing, or whatever, this deal goes both ways."

"Yes ma'am" You say with a mock salute as you find a space in the corner and blend into the surroundings.

You're surprised you get any work done that day. Mostly considering that you can't stop watching her. Not in like a creepy way though, like in an observant I've only seen you in snapshots what are you really like way.

That doesn't sound better.

Basically you can't stop marveling at how utterly beautiful she is, even when she's just fluttering about making coffees or wiping the sides. She's just pretty and apparently also the owner of the entire establishment if your time watching her has taught you anything. Which is to say that everyone seems to know her, the patrons light up when they see her, and the blatant trainee barista trembles around her like he could blow his load at any moment, she's also obviously doing finances when she sits down in a huff across from you and drops her head into her hands.

"Not going well I imagine?" You question after a particularly hard sigh has you pushing your laptop off to the side to gaze at her softly.

"Any chance you're like scarily good with taxes?" You chuckle but shake your head in any case.

"I'm terrible with numbers in general. I just let Stacie in accounting do them for me, she's pretty amazing with them, although I sometimes wonder how she manages to fit work in amongst sneaking off with Aubrey to the various dark corners littered about the building." She hums before a look of excitement passes over her face and she pushes the paper towards your laptop and leans conspiratorially across the table.

"So you are a hotshot musician? No wait, I'm sorry, a hotshot producer." You roll your eyes her way but find yourself smiling anyway because she's kind of adorable and evidently an incredible listener if her mocking was anything to go by. You're about to question her about her own secrets when she continues on. "Well then Little Miss Hot, Dark and Mysterious show me what you've got." You can't explain why you indulge her. Well, you can. It's just that you don't usually show people your music, not in person, you like to email it or just put it on the radio and pretend that it doesn't affect you as much as it does. You like to distance yourself and pretend that you haven't ripped off a little bit of your soul and ingrained it into each note, or placed your heartbeat beneath the track. You put your everything into music and instant critique isn't something you enjoy, which is why the words tumbling from your mouth shock even you.

"New or old?" She grins excitedly before she loses herself in thought.

"New. I wanna see if I can figure out if I know you, or at least, your music."

"Is anyone else here?"

"No, it's just us." You nod sharply before carefully pulling the headphone cord from your laptop and quickly pressing play on the most recent track you'd deemed listener ready. You're pretty proud of it to be honest, and you think that maybe you're right to be when Chloe's smile grows along with the bass and her eyes close softly with the parting vocals.

"Beca, huh? Last name Mitchell by any chance?"

"How did you know that?"

"Your music never fails to give me goosebumps." She lifts her arm towards you slowly, almost like she's afraid you'll run if she goes any faster and you just might. Instead though you find yourself gently running your fingers along her arm before you can stop yourself, before you can even begin to comprehend what the hell you're doing here. You're heart almost leaps from your chest when she catches your hand in her own and gives you a smile you haven't seen before – a smile that doesn't exude happiness like the others but instead a smile that lights a match just to set the blood in your veins alight, just to watch you burn up in her presence.

It's the smile that has you slamming your laptop shut and tripping over yourself in your haste to stand up and leave. She catches your wrist just before you escape and the smile remains on her lips as she runs her thumb across your skin with graceful ease.

"See you tomorrow?"

You nod, and then you press a kiss to her cheek.

Obviously the next step is to all but run out of there condemning yourself, and maybe replay the moment over and over again in your head.

Her face was soft.

You felt her smile against your lips.

* * *

You bring Jesse. Frankly, you can't even begin to comprehend why the hell you would bring him along. Perhaps you have a brain tumor, or you're being possessed, or you're just way more into sadomasochism then you ever possibly could have imagined. Bringing Jesse anywhere is usually a terrible idea, except bringing Jesse here was literally the worst idea ever because it will honestly take him all of five seconds to realise why you've suddenly started going out of your way to get coffee from this place – that reason being a certain redhead that your eyes catch the moment you step through the door and are hit with the soul-saving scent of caffeine. You knew the smile she sent your way was going to be trouble. The small, almost shy wave she paired it with was what really screwed you, specifically when you returned it in the same bashful nature.

Three.

Two.

One.

"You know, I was wondering why you'd suddenly taken to walking two blocks for a cup of coffee pretty similar to the one two seconds across the street but this… this makes so much sense now." He's so bloody smug and you hate yourself for doing this. You weren't going to hear the end of this for days, even weeks if you knew Jesse at all. This is your comeuppance for mocking his love interests for years.

"I'll have you know that this is an excellent establishment with award winni-"

"Beca, you're back!" She grins widely at you but it slips slightly as she regards Jesse at your side, who you can feel staring holes into your head with excitement of the situation – which once again, why did you do this to yourself? "And you brought your… boyfriend?" You laugh. You honestly laugh at her and Jesse smacks your arm in mock offence, but you can't help it because the two of you haven't been mistaken as a couple in years and you forgot how ridiculous it felt. Chloe watches you oddly but she's smiling slightly too (probably because you look majorly dumb cracking yourself up in the middle of a serene coffee shop).

"Sorry it's just. There are no boyfriends around me currently." You find yourself saying and you're such an idiot for phrasing it that way, or for sharing that information anyway instead of avoiding her eyes and pretending that you didn't kiss her last night (and yes, it was on the cheek but that still isn't something you do so you're freaking out a little).

"Or ever." Is what Jesse adds to the conversation, and you'd think he would mumble it comically under his breath but no. No, he just says it outright to Chloe. Lobs it as loud as he possibly can into the abyss and waits for her reply.

You're also, maybe, kinda, waiting to see what she says.

"Ever, huh?"

"No. Not really my thing." God you want to die.

"Maybe we should start a club then. We could start spit-balling names now? Scissor sisters?" You should tell her to shut up, or walk out of the café, or push her over, or something that fits your persona and stops giving Jesse ammunition to mock you. You do not do these things. Fuck.

"No, too obvious. Go deeper." She snorts. She legitimately snorts and my god is it adorable.

"That's what she said. But seriously though, Vagitarians?"

"It's getting better, but I feel like you're holding out on me, Red."

"Maybe we should discuss it later when I take you out for drinks?" She looks hopeful and bashful and sultry and completely sure of herself all at once, and holy hell she's going to kill you. You're honestly going to die.

"Y-yes" You stammer out before you manage to take a breath. "I would like that. I could meet you here when you close?"

"I would like that" She repeats before she potters about getting your usual order as though she knows that the second drink you buy to go is always for Jesse, as though none of what happened in the last three minutes had even occurred at all. The only evidence you weren't dreaming is Jesse's incessant rambling and the rough scrawl on the side of your cup.

 _Beca._

 _I can get off at 7_

 _(Perks of being the boss)._

 _P.S. Sapphoholics?_

 _P.P.S. you look insanely pretty today_

 _P.P.P.S you should maybe have this_

 _XXX-XXXX_

* * *

You're nervous. You're totally nervous, which is fair enough because you're about to go on a date with Chloe, the coffee girl whom you don't know the last name of or really that much about other than she makes good coffee and can't do math. So, you're nervous.

You're also stupidly excited to see her face again, which is crazily cheesy and also completely true. You're not really sure if you're supposed to wait outside, or knock, or something. You're glad you don't though. You're glad you walk straight through the door before you can talk yourself out of it because you find her sweeping the floor and singing her heart out. To your song. She's singing your song, and not just one you produced, the first song you ever wrote on your low budget EP that you were sure all of three people actually knew about and owned, two of them being your parents and the other being Jesse. Apparently you were wrong. Massively wrong. Holy hell was she beautiful.

"I see you've been holding out on me" She starts and the broom falls with a thud that has you laughing abruptly. Crimson crawls up her neck which only makes you laugh harder until she's picking the broom from the floor and poking you in the sides with it. "Stop it… You have a lovely voice."

"Thank you, I was in an acapella group in college."

"Oh yeah, that's like a thing now."

"Of course, makes me very good with my mouth." It's your turn to blush. You have a feeling it won't be the last. In fact, you'll probably just be permanently red for the entire evening, though if it's always accompanied by the pleasant swirl of your stomach, you could get used to it.

"I'll be the judge of that. You ready to go?"

"Definitely." She states before grabbing her purse and your hand with nothing but a subtle smile and a gentle tug towards the door. You feel ridiculously lightheaded when she doesn't let go, even when she gets agitated at trying to lock the door one handed (it's adorable, she's adorable).

"I have another question." You say and she cocks her eyebrows in a silent gesture to go ahead. "What's your last name because I feel kinda awful not knowing it?" She chuckles softly before her grin turns salacious and your blood burns hot.

"Beale, as in your ass in those jeans is _un-beale-ieveable_ "

She was such a dork.

But you could get used to that.

You actually, kinda, already had.


	12. Ma-Damn! I Mean Miss

A/N - Two in one night? All I can say is - _treat yoself!_

* * *

You hate parent teacher conferences. Although when you say hate you don't really mean hate, you mean loathe with a fiery passion that consumes your entire soul and makes you debate working in a diner after all - or being a serial killer.

It wouldn't be all that bad if it weren't for _those_ parents. Every teacher knows the types. Firstly, you have the parent who never admits what a little shit their child is, and lives in a seemingly perfect bubble where said child isn't in detention every other day, and who you almost find yourself praying will find the one kid who's willing to punch back. Then you have the opposite where you find a kid who is sweet and caring and actually cares about the lesson - instead of just mocking music as a subject and claiming they took it for easy credit - but his parents seems to think music is a waste of time (see: my father). Then you just have the excitable parents who clasp your hand a little too tight, or smile like it's about to rip from their face and that one time when someone hugged you to the point that your feet weren't touching the floor and you just felt violated – your body shuts down just thinking about that one.

Parent teacher conferences basically just set everyone up for failure so you hate them. You spend the entire week before the event psyching yourself up for polite smiles and practice your words and counter arguments in preparation for the inevitable. Conversely, you spend the whole day of the event wondering what illnesses or sudden family emergencies you could throw out at the last moment to escape such a thing. You did show up however, or at least, you stayed inside the building past the time you would usually be running from the door and into the freedom of your car.

The first parent you encounter is a spitter and you mutely wonder why anyone would willingly go to Sea World if that was the kind of thing they were experiencing. To make matters worse the spitter -"Mr- I'm-sorry- _Dr. Thomas_ " - had a particular propensity for the letter 'p' and you're going to have to shower for at least half an hour when you finally get out of this wretched place.

However, when you actually do manage to escape the unorthodox wash and send him on his way along with his son, who looks vaguely like a kicked puppy, you wish he'd come back. You'd gladly take Saliva Sal over a father who is publicly leering at you despite his wife's presence by his side - although her gaze didn't seem totally PG either. The moment they send their son on his way and question your availability on the weekends is when you shove them out the door and pointedly ignore the particularly imaginative words called your way. You add an extra hour to your shower total after that experience.

It doesn't get any better after that and it's kind of assumed now that you will just be showering for the rest of your existence to wash away the trauma you've been through. In fact, you're all but standing on the windowsill ready to jump when she comes in. Your head is comfortably placed on crossed arms as you groan in exasperation, praying to all the gods that Swanson will pop his head in from next door and offer coffee in the next three seconds. Two eerily similar chuckles sound before you're alerted to any presence at the door but all of your focus is on the perfectly echoed sound that almost makes you smile a little.

"Bad day?" It's said with such a perfect mix of sympathy and empathy and warmth that you're surprised you manage to reply to the angelic voice reverberating through your bones.

"You have no idea - I'm pretty sure I got sized up in order to determine my capabilities in the art of the threesome by some parents." A gasp in the doorway makes you lift your head from your arms completely and then you panic because Gemma, the delightfully sweet and wholesome Gemma, who loves music and actually enjoys your class is looking disturbed and cautiously amused in your doorway and her mother (?) is beside her laughing heartily. The fact that she's honestly laughing at your mistake is what catches your eye first, because she's apparently thrown her head back to give the sound perfect access to your lungs if the stuttering of your breath is anything to go by. The next thing that catches your attention is that she is ridiculously pretty. She's the kind of pretty that stops the Earth in its orbit so that the universe can take a second to appreciate the level of greatness it achieved. She's also like twenty six but apparently she has a fourteen year old child, and while you're certainly not the best at maths, you can't quite work out how that happened. Regardless, you push yourself to your feet dutifully and meet her at the door to shake her hand and invite her in.

"How are you Mrs. Beale?" She takes your hand quickly in a firm shake and you suppress the urge to shiver because you're a grown women and all she's done is put her flesh against yours - _get over yourself_.

"It's just Miss actually" She's still holding your hand. You're still staring at each other. Gemma is clearing her throat. Her eyes are the bluest thin- Gemma is clearing her throat. You whip your hand away and lead them to the chairs facing your desk. You're still lingering in the realms of confusion as to how this whole mum/kid thing is real when the older Beale zones onto your thoughts.

"I'm her sister"

"I wasn't. Well I mean I was but you-" You stop yourself and take a breath. "That would make you Chloe then – the doctor with the torrid past of acapella? Can I question why you're here instead of Mrs Beale?" Before she answers you she turns to Gemma who is blushing darkly, and sinking in her chair, as she evidently realises she's been caught out for talking about her sister in class. You feel the need to clear it up because she's the best kid in your class and you don't want everyone in one room to actively resent your existence. You're an asshole, but not that much.

"It was all good things. The things she said about you, that is. I actually found myself drooling alongside the collective bundle of hormones and cologne at the back of the room at the alluring prospect of such a combination" You wince at your wording because what the hell are you doing? Being an idiot obviously because 1. That couldn't even be considered charming by the aforementioned hormone parcels and 2. You shouldn't even be flirting with the sister of your student when you're supposed to be talking to said student about their academic career. She's laughing again though, and you're smirking, and Gemma is looking smug and _what are you doing_?

"I can't say that stories of the teacher who runs on sarcasm and music didn't pique my interest a little." If you were three years younger or had less self restraint you would have squealed. You don't though - obviously. You still have some semblance of a reputation to uphold. You can't have children, or parents for that matter, thinking you're weak (except maybe the _ménage à trois_ couple, you'd like them not to think of you at all). "And I'm here because our mum got stuck at the office and I just finished my shift down the road."

"Well I'm sure you're smart enough to pass along the two worded message that she needs to hear anyway, so we can just get on with it and say Gemma's wonderful. I have never once debated putting my head in between a pair of symbols in her presence, probably because she has a certain rawness that really comes across in her work and she actually does her work – homework included." Gemma beams at the review and you find yourself winking back because you remember your music teacher telling your dad he thought you had something special. It had meant the world to you even though your dad wasn't so impressed; more excited about your ability to somehow bullshit your way through Lit at an AP level.

"Can't you give me some dirt?" Chloe asks jokingly and her sister digs her fingers into her ribs until the older redhead is batting her hands away and mock glaring. The sibling thing totally makes sense.

"Sorry to disappoint."

"I have a feeling you don't disappoint very often." You're choking. You're choking on air, and her words, and the arched eyebrow, and the heated deliverance and fuck. You can't even remember why you're not supposed to be doing this. You can barely remember your name. God, you've lost it. You've become some kind of hormonal teenage girl with her first serious crush and you don't like it - except maybe you are kind of enjoying the whole experience, maybe she's worth the nervous shifting and the odd stomach churning.

"This is getting weird. Should I just leave you guys to it?" Gemma. That was why you weren't doing this. She was why you hadn't thrown caution to the wind and pulled the redhead onto the desk that was separating your bodies. You flush violently and send an apologetic smile her way.

"No that's-" You clear your throat. "That's really all I had to say unless you guys have any questions about the syllabus or Gemma's grades?" Two shaking heads and you're standing from your chair and they're mimicking your movements as you open the door to your classroom.

"It was nice to put a face to the stories Chloe and I'll see you in class tomorrow Gem?"

"Will do, Miss Mitchell" She's halfway down the hallway by the time you blink, towing her seemingly reluctant sister who is staring back at you like all she wants to do is be back at your side and you wouldn't protest. Lord knows you would not protest at having another chance to meet Chloe Beale. You might even start praying, or learning the pipes so that you can do some awesome kind of pied piper shit and lure her back to your classroom, and oh god, you need to sleep.

And have a shower (or eight).

And then a cold one.

A really cold one.

* * *

You arrive to snickering the next day in class and a crowd of people surrounding Gemma who is talking at an alarming rate. To say you're suspicious of the events would be the understatement of the yea,r because the volume of chatter significantly lessened the moment one of your feet was inside the boundary of the classroom, and you've been thrown several meaningful glances.

By the time you reach your desk they're all outright staring at you and you look down to see a post it note attached to a ludicrously red apple.

 _Miss "I kinda need to know your actual name unless you're into that" Mitchell,_

 _Gemma tells me that my flirting was outrageously obvious and that I have two options:_

 _1\. I apologise for my indiscretions_

 _2\. I stop being a ninny (her words) and maybe ask you out to coffee_

 _I'm partial to the latter so maybe you'll send me a text (XXX-XXXX) and I'll be ridiculously cheesy and pick you up outside of school whilst nervously rubbing the sweat from my palms and telling myself that I'm the luckiest gal ever?_

 _Let me know,_

 _Chloe "You can call me whatever you'd like" Beale_

 _xxx_

"Did you guys read this?" You ask fearfully.

"No, Gemma wouldn't let us" You're very thankful for the small redhead at the back of the classroom, though she undeniably told them all about the encounter because you could practically feel the smugness rolling off them all in waves.

"Good"

"You gonna text her?" So nosey.

"Maybe"

"You're already copying the number down" One kid at the front notes and another replies "Can you blame her? Gemma's sister is smoking hot." You flick his hat from his head with a cautioning glare before setting them all off on today's task, and maybe a second later you're typing on your phone, and perhaps you're trying not to smile and failing miserably but they don't have the right to say a word. Not after what you experienced for them all last night.

 _Beca (9:14): You're on; I'll tug at my hair and anxiously watch you before you notice me. Oh and it's Beca by the way, though I can't deny that the other thing might just be hot if you did it._

 _Chloe (9:17): The things you're doing to me - know that I would be there at this very moment had there not been so many sick children in need of my aid xxx_

 _Beca (9:18): Go help the sick kids. I can rock your world at any time._

 _Chloe (9:18): I'm counting on it xxx_


	13. Nice Hooters

_A/N – So it's apparently been ages since I did a new one of these so, you know, sorry – please enjoy a continuation to 'A Real Hoot' (AKA Chapter Nine) as my sincerest apology._

* * *

So she hadn't called - which is fine, completely and totally fine, because it was her decision. You left it up to her and she decided not to call you. She didn't call you, even though she definitely told you that she would, in fact, call you – that she was even a little excited by the prospect. But she hasn't called and it isn't really all that fine.

In essence, you respect her decision not to call but you're also annoyed slash kinda bummed because you wanted her to call. Although, obviously you don't actually vocalize those words, you just mope around your home and the studio (and the delightful take out place down the road), whilst simultaneously avoiding your mothers calls and pretending she isn't trying to find out what happened on that disastrous date.

Usually you'd let it go. Not that you really go around giving your number out to people all that often, but on the occasion that you decide to, you're not really too bothered if they call you – mostly because dating makes you feel nauseous and the people who usually throw themselves at you aren't really the kind of people you want to spend any more than five minutes with.

What you're saying is you're bad at dating, so normally you'd call someone not calling a blessing in disguise but not this time. Hence why you've somehow walked yourself from your studio into a particular Hooters without even actively deciding to (apparently even subconscious Beca is a little pissed Chloe hadn't called). Clearing your throat brings her out of her reverie and she spins, a little startled, and finishes with a practiced grin. The moment she notices it's you it morphs into something more relaxed and you can't help but return it despite being somewhat irked that it'd been a week and she hadn't called you yet. Not even so much as a text had come your way.

"Back to Hooters so soon?" She says with a smirk and you find you're falling straight back into the rhythm you'd created last time.

"Well you see, I gave this girl my number and she hasn't called and while I'd let it be, she got kinda handsy last time under the pretense of _'helping me out of a window'_ and I think we should at least have dinner." She mimics the faux severity on your face as she nods along solemnly with your words, but you can see the laughter taunting her features when you come to a halt.

"Ah, I see. You know, I think there's a chance I know her - she's been annoying all her friends talking about you all week, but been too afraid to actually call because after dancing around a dingy bathroom she turned your card over and found that you're not just a tiny scared serial dater, but a big shot music producer." You hadn't actually thought about that. You thought about her not calling because she had better offers, or she just generally found you repulsive, or she lost your number, and a whole bunch of other horrible things but not that. You didn't actually think that she could feel intimidated – she'd come across stupidly fearless the first time and now here she was, admitting she didn't call because she was scared... of you, or, well, you're job.

"No need to be intimidated. I like music. People like my music."

"I like your music" She states so simply that you can't help but smile, and not your usual smirk but a genuine smile.

"I like your access to alcohol," she laughs and your heart stutters for a second, "and your smile."

"My shift ends in twenty." You plant yourself in the seat directly in front of her with purpose.

"Then I guess I'll have to sit here and wait, just to make sure you don't run out on me. I hear the bathroom windows are incredibly spacious." She laughs again as she leisurely pours some kind of concoction into a glass and places it in front of you with a knowing smirk that has you questioning every action you've taken since entering this establishment.

"You sure you're brave enough for that? Your buddy is sitting over there." She nods her head to the same corner seat in which you almost met your untimely demise. You're not all that surprised to see Tom sitting in the booth, covered in wing sauce and shouting at the screen like his life depends on it and yet you still find yourself shuddering slightly at his presence.

"It's worth it." She smiles one final time before nodding her head once and sending you a parting wink as she shifts into bartender mode and actually serves the customers anxiously standing at the other end of the bar. You're about halfway through the fruity mess she'd given you before you feel a tap on your back and find her shifting from foot to foot behind you.

"So, where are we going?" She questions when you grab your coat and push off from the stool.

"I actually have no idea, this visit was entirely spontaneous. I'm kind of skipping work right now." Her brow cocks at your wording.

"Kind of?"

"Well I'm the boss so I can work whenever I want, but usually I'd be there right now, which basically just means I'll get a load of stick tomorrow from my co-workers. That's gonna be great."

"Fire them?" Her sinister suggestion is coupled with a tone of complete sweetness and you blame the mind boggling contrast for giving you the courage to slip your hand into hers as you walk aimlessly down the street. It's the squeeze of her hand that keeps it there though.

"Definitely a good idea, I'll be sure to add it to the list as Plan B."

"And just what is Plan A, if you don't mind me asking?" She asks, curiously, eyeing you like she half expects the plan to be having someone assassinate them in the night – which, to be fair, is actually a half decent plan.

"Bring in a fuck tonne of donuts and just hope for the best."

"I didn't know fuck tonnes had officially been made units of measurement." She jokes and you're about to reply as you pull her to a halt outside of your apartment building, before she apparently clocks on to just where you are and lifts her brows in a silent inquisition.

"We're not here for that reason – though I wouldn't say no." She slaps your arm abruptly as you chuckle to your own joke. "Seriously though, I just thought it'd be nice to get to know each other someone quiet, which has way too many takeout menus and a lesser chance of bumping into my mother." It's definitely a surprise when you feel her give your ass what you would characterize as a 'squeeze' before she mumbled that " _she wouldn't say no either"_ and stepped up to your doorman with an extravagant smile and an easy wave that had him letting her in before he even saw you beside her.

* * *

It's just over an hour later that you find yourselves childishly stealing food from each other and throwing your own in retaliation of the theft. It's easy, you recognize with a smile, to be with her that is. She's easy (and definitely not in the way some woman are in your presence). She's easy because every time you stumble over your words or say something completely ridiculous she gives you this smile, or says something equally stupid, and suddenly you're back on your feet with a sarcastic smirk and an odd amount of confidence in the presence of such a pretty girl.

That's why you kiss her.

That's why you kiss her as she has half a noodle hanging from her mouth and a determined look in her eye as she stubbornly attempts to suck it in without giving in and using the chopstick to push it. It's also why you don't let said noodle deter you from your goal (that and it was surprisingly delicious).

So you were kissing her, and then all foods were pushed aside, and she was pushed onto her back, and you were pushed into the space between her thighs, and pushing the boundaries of your self control as she let her hands roam along the skin beneath your shirt. You were also going gradually insane with every new second her hands were scorching your skin - intoxicated with each new desperate tug at your lips, and every hitch in her movements as her back arched in time with your own explorations. You'd all but completely lost yourself in the moment, given in to this girl wholly, when a familiarly grating voice boomed through your apartment.

"Beca, sweetheart, I know you have a doorman but you should probably still lock your doors." You had apparently never noticed how fast she moved, or your brain was completely clouded by all things Chloe, because you found yourself still very much situated between the redheads legs… with your hands on her breasts… and hers cupping your ass… ah fuck. "Oh! I didn't realise you had company." Thankfully you actually manage to move then - jumping off of her body and allowing the two of you to sit sheepishly as you stare down your mother like a scolded child, which is ridiculous because this is your apartment.

"Hey, mom" You mumble uselessly because what else are you to do when she walks in on all of that. You can't honestly remember a time your mum actually walked in on you _doing things_ , you think the worst she had ever seen was Jesse attempting to kiss you before you sucker punched him and ran off to the swings in, like, second grade.

"I'm Grace, Beca's mom, and you are?" She ignores you, speaking directly to Chloe with an easy smile but a spark in her eye that puts you on edge. It's undeniably teasing, and knowing, and scary. This isn't going to go well for you, whichever way it goes.

"Sorry, how rude of me," Chloe springs from her seat in a second in order to politely thrust her hand at your mother and it's bizarrely both adorably sweet and hot as hell because everything about her seems so frazzled, and you can feel the phantom of her body playing beneath your palms like she's still writhing in your grip. Focus. "I'm Chloe Beale."

"Is this why you skipped out on Tom the other day?" She chuckles whilst kindly taking Chloe's hand with a mocking grin. You can't help but smirk in return when you think about what really happened that day.

"She isn't why I left, but she is how I escaped." You state cryptically and you can tell you've gotten her attention as she unceremoniously drops her handbag and plops into the armchair opposite you, allowing the redhead to return to her spot at your side – albeit much closer than before she left (you know because you can feel her hand slip into yours as the couch dips).

"And just what does that mean?"

"It means she boosted me out of a cramped window."

"Rebeca Mitchell, you climbed out a window to hide from someone?" She exclaims with a weird lilt and you'd feel bad but he was kind of a total douche nozzle, and you did sneakily pay the bill and then some before you left, and for God's sake Hooters is not exactly a prime first date location.

"It was Hooters" That catches her attention, and then she's laughing almost hysterically, which is totally unfair because she was the whole reason you were in that hellish situation. Well, maybe not hellish, but that was completely to do with the redhead whose chuckled you could feel rumbling through your body. "I somehow thought you'd be a little angrier than this."

"I just wanted to give you options, but it seems you found your own. Speaking of, why were you at Hooters?"

"Oh I work at the bar, helps me pay for my teaching degree." If that wasn't the moment in which your mother fell head over heels in love with the girl fondling her child only minutes before, then you weren't the same girl who convinced Amy to flash Bumper in the parking lot at work just because you were bored and they were obviously skirting around some feelings.

"That's lovely, I'm a teacher too - it's where Beca got her musical talent."

"Okay, before you start bragging, why did you actually come here? Or was it just to see if I had finally locked my doors?" She snaps her fingers and quickly begins rummaging through her bags with fervor then. You take the moment of distraction and turn to whisper to the redhead beside you.

"Her bag is never organised which means we have just enough time to run out of here." The indignant smack to your arm is all the answer you need, but your time is up anyway because your mother is catching your eye again and smiling mischievously as she hands you… a magazine.

"Beca Mitchell's Great Escape." You read aloud and there it is. You climbing out of a Hooter's window and smiling giddily at some unknown force within. "Jesus woman, why didn't you just start with the whole _I know what you did last summer_ thing and save us all this effort?"

"I just wanted to watch you squirm a little bit, and quite honestly I didn't expect to find you had _company_." You groan then fling the magazine her way and revel in her squeal.

"You can go away now."

"Of course, I'll see you next week for lunch." She stands with the same smirk you catch in the mirror on occasion and turns her attention to the woman beside you. "It was lovely to meet you Chloe, perhaps I'll be seeing more of you outside of the pages of a magazine – you're much prettier in this light." And then she leaves. Thank God!

"She seems nice."

"Of course that was your perspective on that completely weird ordeal." You turn to her and find her hair still undoubtedly disheveled. It's second nature that has you running your fingers through her tangled tresses. It's something deeper that has you scratching her scalp deviously.

"You know, I think there was something we were doing before your mom showed up." She husks and then she's pulling you impossibly closer and letting her hands slip under your shirt to the familiar expanse of skin.

"Really? I don't quite remember." You grin. "Maybe you could refresh my memory?" She grins in return as she directs your hands back onto her breasts, and maybe you're a child, or she's just fizzling your brain one neuron at a time, but whatever it is you can't take your next words back and somehow her laughter makes it all worth it.

" _Nice hooters_."


	14. The Roommate

_A/N - So I remembered that I screenshotted a post about this a while ago and totally forgot about it, so it may have already been done but I just couldn't resist._

* * *

They call her "The Roommate", which doesn't really seem to sum up Beca in your mind, but technically they aren't wrong - she is your roommate and that is about as much as they know about her from your vlog, so you can't blame them for picking a name and running with it. But that's mostly because she expertly avoids your filming at all times so that she generally appears as a lone leg, or an arm, or that extremely attractive jawline poking through the fridge for a snack.

Somehow they haven't found her on social media, which only adds to the mystery that is Beca Mitchell because those guys are like vultures making a meal from scraps - resourceful and determined. Although now even you don't talk about Beca as anything other than "The Roommate" to them because it's become this kind of game with them trying to guess what her name could be from what she looks like, or how old she is, what her job is and it's funny. You quite enjoy the hypothesizing that's she's the nineteen year old Kate from Michigan, or that she's a ghost too lazy to haunt you but also to lazy to leave. The second seems closer to life for you but you don't comment. You just go with it and Beca begins to exist as nothing more than a myth, a legend.

That is, she did. Until the moment where she walked purposefully into your live stream, swigged straight from your bottle and then rested her forehead on your collarbone with a muttered "my dad is a total ass", and it catches you by surprise. Not because this wasn't a common thing for the two of you because it was – complaining about her dad was a hobby of yours at this point. It's just that she usually had this sixth sense for the camera, and yet, she sat in full view, not even clocking the blinking light until your laptop went on the fritz with the amount of excited "IT'S THE ROOMMATE" messages.

"Chloe." She said slowly as she skimmed her eyes suspiciously over the screen and the subsequent messages of excitement bursting up the side. "Oh fu-"

"Language!" You admonish and she rolls her eyes but shuts her mouth nonetheless. Then you turn to the screen and smile whilst sweeping your arms towards Beca in an exaggerated gesture that only seems to make her chuckle softly at you. "So guys as most of you know this is," you turn to Beca "drum roll please" she complies with a smirk and you smile in return. God she's cute. "The Roommate!"

"The Roommate? I've lost the right to my name and swearing in one night - that's pretty cold, Chlo." She mocks and you almost forget the camera is there as you reach to tickle her before getting your hands batted away with a warning look.

"Waffles." She shouts.

"You can't use the safe word before I even start." That sounds sexual. You know that sounds sexual. Why would you say something that sounds so sexual to all these people on the internet when it isn't even sexual? You should tell them it's not sexual. "I would like to clarify that the safe word is only ever used when tickling, and also means that I get waffles made for me in the morning which is awesome." Beca smiles at you softly for a moment before she seems to realise herself and starts standing up to leave you. You grab her arm quickly and tug her back down with what you hope is a convincing smile. You know she's giving in when she sighs and adjusts her position, only serving to press her body further into yours – not that you're complaining. You would never complain about Beca touching you. You usually revel in the contact she gives you considering you can easily recall a time that she would tense slightly under your hands, mostly because you constantly watch her do it to others.

"You can't leave now or you'll upset the internet." She watches the screen pointedly for a second before conceding.

"Fine, but only if you finally get the crunchy kind of peanut butter this week."

"You drive a hard bargain but I accept your terms." She returns your smile before you turn back to the camera with a practiced grin. You're actually kind of excited. This is going to drive everyone insane and now you don't have to try and think of semi-quality content to talk about for an hour.

"Everyone, this is Beca Mitchell, official roommate and she is going to do a Q&A"

"I should never have agreed to this."

"Come on, Beca, we both know you're dying to tell the world what your favourite kind of ice cream is." She looks vaguely perplexed as to why you've said that until she sees the feed beside your faces and watches a bunch of random questions shoot through one after the other.

"Firstly, why the hell would that be a legitimate question? Secondly, obviously mint choc chip because I'm not a savage like some people in this room who enjoy raspberry ripple." You feign hurt as you clutch dramatically at your chest and wipe a stray tear from your eye.

"Raspberry ripple is a classic, you take that back."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Fine, I'll let you have this one. But make no mistake, Mitchell, once we're off camera I will make you pay for this mistake." She chuckles at your faux seriousness and pushes you gently so that you tumble off your precarious perch on your shared chair. You laugh from the floor before she pulls you back up and points wordlessly for you to pick a new question. "Obviously you want something meatier, so what's your favourite colour?"

"Oh gosh, that's a really hard one but I think I'll have to go with like a sky blue."

"Smart choice, but more importantly, what is the best kind of cheese?"

"Hard hitting content right here…" It continues on like that for a while, the back and forth laughter at each question. Beca pretending to be seriously questioning her answers and you waiting in anticipation to see what she'll say next like you couldn't answer all these questions yourself. It ends with one arm wrapped around Beca and the other blowing a kiss to the screen before you shut it down. It takes all of two seconds of the laptop being shut for Beca's head to be in your lap and your hands to be in her hair. The way she snuggles into your body desperately reminds you of what state she had entered in just under an hour ago.

"How's your dad?" You question softly as you tenderly push her hair behind her ear.

"He doing fine, still telling me that I wasted my intelligence which I totally understand he thinks is best for me and I appreciate the care and all but like, shut up dude, I afford more than my rent and people are starting to ask for me specifically at clubs now. I've finally made it and…"

"And he's too busy asking why you didn't go to med school?" You finish and she nods before you push her up and pull her into a full body hug. "Come on, I recorded Miss USA and there's crunchy peanut butter in the cupboard."

"You already bought it?" She asks excitedly.

"Of course."

"Then load that shit up while I get the spoons, Beale." She jumps up and rushes to the kitchen before you can reply and all you can do is chuckle because she's completely adorable, and nothing like the shut off rock chick you met first day of pre-med.

All you can say is thank god you both got out of that.

* * *

You're halfway through a bowl of Lucky Charms when she shuffles out of her bedroom, half asleep and watching her phone curiously like she's woken up with no idea what the device even is anymore.

"Chloe, what's a _Bechloe_? And why am I being sent thousands of twitter messages about it?" You should have been expecting the question really. You woke up to way too many excited tweets about the thing, and then gifs on tumblr of the two of you just looking at each other (which admittedly did look somewhat shippable, you think), and fanfiction that you didn't dare click on knowing it had been written in the dark hours of night. But you decided to play it cool. Just ease her into the whole thing.

"It's our ship name." You state simply but it does nothing to ease her confusion.

"I don't even know what that is. I just wanted to see what The Rock was up to and now this?"

"It's like Brangelina" That has her head snapping up to you in an instant.

"Like a couple name?" She asks.

"...yeah" She opens her mouth a few times before closing it and opening it again. She seems legitimately confused as to the concept for a moment but then you watch her nod slowly, almost acceptingly, except you can't help but wonder if she means it in the way that she would be happy with it being true, or if she just understands what you're talking about. You find yourself kind of hoping for the first.

"Oh, well that's... they know we're not though?"

"Obviously. People just think it'd be cute." She scoffs.

"Of course it would be cute. It would fit all High School loner and cheerleader fantasies." You laugh at her immediate train of thought before you reply.

"You know I was never a cheerleader." You reprimand and she rolls her eyes just as expected.

"Oh, I'm sorry - loner and acapella singer stereotypes. It's a dream come true."

"Shut up. And you know you were never a loner, I have it on good authority from Stacie that you had girls throwing themselves at you for four years." She shakes her head as she slowly approaches you. Her body is pressing delicately into your side by the time she stops to rest her lips against the shell of your ear. You're not really sure what you expect her to say. Part of you knows your body is preparing for her to say something salacious, something that would usually make Beca blush. Part of you knows your brain just _wants_ her to say something like that, to finally stop this game the two of you have been playing and do something about it. Then there's the more logical part of you that definitely should have expected what she says next.

"That's where you're wrong Beale; I've had bitches yearning since first grade." She goes straight about making waffles then, like she hasn't just got your pulse racing in a matter of seconds.

God, she's incorrigible.

* * *

They don't stop. The fan questions and the pleas to get Beca back on your vlog. You don't actually know how you convince her to agree, all you know is that you're setting up the camera, and Beca is setting up various pieces of musical equipment that you have no idea how to use and are kind of scared that she's allowing you to touch with so much faith. She gives you a thumbs up as you finish the final touches to the setting and click the on button.

"Hi guys, I'm Chloe, in case you've never been here before or didn't read my username. And back due to popular demand is my roommate, Beca." You pull her into the shot and she lands with an _oof_ at your side. "So I kinda had no idea what to do with Beca here but being the savior that she is she suggested we all learn how to mix songs. Well, mix songs to a basic level because I've watched her do this by herself before and she does all this complicated stuff and pushes and pulls a bunch of doohickeys to make audible magic and I cannot be doing that." You can feel her laughter reverberating through your body the more you talk until the point where you eventually cut yourself off and she immediately places a serious look on her face.

"Keep going Chlo, you're explaining it perfectly."

"Stop being an ass and show us step one, _Becs_." She grins cheekily at you as she shoves you over to the decks before softly running her fingers over the gadgets.

"Firstly, these are my babies so please don't be ' _two AM Chloe'_ right now." You gasp at her but then chuckle regardless because she does have a point. That point being that two AM Chloe walks into everything, occasionally breaking a lamp, but doesn't actually realise she's causing more destruction than Godzilla until she wakes up in the morning to the disheveled apartment. Eight AM Chloe hates two AM Chloe because she has to try and buy the exact same lamp she broke in order to replace it before Beca notices she's been at it again. It never works. Beca is like a ninja, like a broken lamp detector. Like a sniffer dog for small pieces of china that you haven't managed to catch in your sweep up. You shove her anyway though because, yes, she is right but it doesn't have to be such a joke - the biggest joke is already the amount of money you have to spend on lamps.

"What did I say two seconds ago?"

"Stop being an ass. Okay then, step one is switching it on." You shove her but she stands her ground. "I'm not being an ass, I have legitimately had people ask me why it's not working and the answer is the plug isn't in the socket and the green light isn't blinking."

"That's…" _How can you phrase this that doesn't sound horrible?_

"Now I won't say anything on the matter but know that if Chloe here can't think of a nice word to say then those people are total ass wipes. Anyway, we'll do this the basic way and then you guys can build upon that if you want, or just count the amount of times Chloe slaps my arm and tells me off." You roll your eyes at her but smile nonetheless, mostly because you're refraining from slapping her arm and telling her off for saying ass wipes. You were trying to be clean on your channel.

That plan was falling apart one video at a time apparently.

Okay so here's the thing about the next five minutes that pass - you have no idea what Beca says. Somehow you note you're actually following her instructions, you may even be asking a few questions along the way but you pay absolutely no attention. Actually, you pay a lot of attention – not to what you're supposed to be paying attention to, but there is attention being directed somewhere. Namely her eyes and the way they light up as she excitedly tells you all about how she does something with the doodad, and twizzles the thingamajig, and the way she bounces on her feet like a little excited dance the more she gets into the whole thing, and her hands, her nimble, _nimble_ hands pressing into your own. You only actually begin paying attention again when she settles against your back, telling you it's easier if she pretends she's doing it for herself and you love the logic.

That kind of logic you can completely get behind.

It's the same logic that has you turning your head and whispering, "what's next?" against her lips. She doesn't dignify your question with words though; she just propels herself forward and kisses you.

Now, you've thought about kissing Beca for a long time. You think about it a lot. You think about in the shower, when you're buying cereal, when you're going to sleep, in the shower. You think about it a lot in the shower. The point is you've imagined it a hundred times over but you never imagined this. You don't think you possibly could have conjured up the way she'd nibble on your bottom lip until your mouth slipped open and her tongue slid delicately in. Or the soft palm that would dare to sneak beneath your shirt and spread across your stomach, painting patterns in tandem with said tongue. You knew she would drive you crazy, you didn't realise kissing her would make you certifiably insane.

Somehow you actually manage to pull yourself away, allowing your forehead to press into hers as you try (in vain) to catch your breath. The whole dominant thing is making your blood vibrate because she's always so timid about these things and right now all you can see is the fire in her eyes.

"You know we'll have to erase thing whole thing now."

"Probably fine since you weren't listening at all." You don't even blush. No point in lying now anyway, right? You got exactly what you wanted.

"It's not my fault you get all passionate and hot about music. The next one will have to be something funny, something I can't make sexual." She laughs when you finish, claiming there's nothing on Earth that you couldn't somehow make sexual. You settle on the accent challenge because watching her butcher impressions should be endearing. It should be the safe zone. Except it turns out Beca's English accent is like _insane_ and it would've definitely been weirder if you hadn't of thought it hot, and then got distracted and started kissing her again.

And then, well, once you'd started kissing her, it would have been weird for you not to get carried away and ask her to do it again and again until she was screaming you're name in it.

Wouldn't it? It totally would.

You were just being sensible.


	15. Secret Santa

Firstly, it should be known that you didn't willingly participate in the whole thing. Christmas is kinda stupid in your books – probably something to do with the whole " _we're getting a divorce_ " being uttered over ripped wrapping paper and dry turkey but hey ho. When the whole _Secret Santa_ thing came up a few years back at the office you didn't want to take part, but you were also acutely aware of the fact that ultimately you would be the reason someone else wouldn't get a present and while you may not like Christmas, you're not giant asshole (or, well, you try not to be too much of one).

But regardless of want, two years ago you picked a name out of that hat and you got involved in this crap, which essentially means this is the third year in a row that you've bought Amy some ludicrously strong bottle of alcohol and something stereotypically Australian – this year you decided on a boomerang, mostly because you're curious to see if she can actually get it to come back at her. But that actually brings up another point which is that everyone has the same _Santa_ every year and yet, in spite of said fact, no one seems to have any clue who is buying them presents (which is completely ridiculous because after this long someone had to have spilled the beans). Not to be judgemental or anything but the guys down at reception gossiped all day between work, and yet _Janice & Co_. seemed to have no idea what was going on.

In the end, that was why you didn't like _Secret Santa_. The secret part was making you crazy. Keeping secrets you could do. Lying to Amy about who you thought had her was a generally exciting experience, and by this point you think that you'd solidly convinced her it was Lilly that had her and Amy was too creeped out to actually ask. Having secrets kept from you however, is something that you hated with a fiery passion, especially when your _Santa_ was scarily good at knowing what to buy you, like ' _I-told-my-mother-once- over-the-phone-that-I-needed-a-new-blender-and-she-told-me-to-remember-to-wear-my-scarf-because-it-was-cold-and-I-got-both-for-Christmas'_ good.

You thought it might have been Stacie at first (or maybe you just hoped) because she was your roommate/best friend so she'd know all about the broken blender and your mum's insistence on you wearing a scarf – she'd mocked you enough times about it. But after some persuading you easily got her to admit that she had Aubrey, something that excited her to no end because it was apparently the perfect opportunity to get in her good graces. Which made no sense seeing as it was a secret but got no judgement from you. It did leave you a little scared though, and majorly confused. It only got worse upon last year's Christmas when you'd ended up with a brand new coffee machine, and of course- a new scarf - and yes, you did once again get a kitchen appliance but it was only a few weeks prior that you'd been moaning about not having enough time to go to the coffee shop before work. Annoyingly enough, that conversation had been had in the break room, which still left you with about twelve people that it could have been - most of whom you almost never spoke to.

So now you had a list. Which sounds totally insane when you actually think about it. You have a list of potential Secret Santa's that you were crossing off one by one as you decided that they weren't yours.

Crazy.

 _But,_ on the other hand, you had narrowed it down a couple of guys down in legal and the insanely hot redhead in the office across from yours and there's a fight going on inside of you where half of you wishes it is Chloe Beale, who smiles too much and offers you cookies throughout the day, and the other half wishes it's sweaty Bill two floors down who never speaks to you and definitely doesn't make your heart pound insanely fast just from a wave. Sweaty Bill would be creepy, but easier for your tiny body to handle.

You're apparently too busy staring at your list to notice the knocks on your door until a certain redhead poked her head through with a sharp cough and the usual infectious grin.

"Hi Beca" You startle (apparently very obviously too) because you hear her chuckling at you whilst you straighten yourself out and hide the list back in your desk.

"Hi Chloe, can I help you with something?" You can't imagine what she would want from you and she can't be there to offer cookies because, as she accepts your words as an invitation and steps further into the room, you can see her hands are empty, you also realise you're incredibly hungry because your stomach rumbles loudly as it too notices the lack of snacks. She's laughing at you again as she wrings her hands nervously and scans the room before gazing at you pointedly.

"I know we never have before and it might be a little weird asking and you probably don't really want to go but might feel pressured because I'm right in front of you right now babbling on an-"

"Breathe." You cut in. "Maybe ask me the question first, and then freak out after?" You offer and watch her relax as she notes your soft smile.

"Lunch. I was wondering if maybe you would like to go to lunch with me because you haven't left your office at all today and I don't have any cookies to offer so I thought a meal instead." She's asking you to lunch. She was actually asking you to go to lunch with her, presumably just the two of you. You actually had the chance for something more than casual pleasantries and the exchange of baked goods. All you had to do was say yes out loud instead of having an internal freak out and you could have lunch with Chloe Beale. No pressure, just use your words.

"Eating out sounds nice." Wrong words, Mitchell, wrong fucking words.

"Awes, I'll bring my car around then. Oh, and don't forget your scarf – its cold out."

* * *

You're quite possibly in love with her. If Titanium blasting through the speakers of her car wasn't enough, then it was surely her bringing you to your favourite Italian restaurant that sealed the deal for you. You practically inhaled the pizza the moment it was placed in front of you, not even thinking to stop for a breath until you found her chuckling at you from across the table.

"Hungry?"

"I maybe had forgotten to eat at all today." You mumble sheepishly and she looks about as outraged as you'd expected.

"Jesus, Beca. I guess we'll have to go to lunch more often." You just nod because you don't trust yourself to actually reply to that with something other than an emphatic _hell yeah_ or something else along those equally embarrassing lines. "What we're you doing that was so important anyway?" She questions and it's a fair enough one, except you maybe weren't actually doing anything that important because you'd already finished all of your work for Christmas and were basically just coming in to pretend to work so you could be paid more.

"I was scanning the system for faults." Minesweeper. You were playing Minesweeper.

"Aren't you in Creative?"

"Yeah but I help patch the servers when I'm free." Not a complete lie. You weren't exactly supposed to be accessing the computers but the IT department are completely redundant and you may, or may not, have dabbled in hacking from a very young age.

"How do you even know how?"

"I majored in IT to appease my father." That one was actually true. You're not really sure what possessed you to actually tell her the truth about that one – probably her sweet smile and soft gaze even as she all but shoved a slice of pepperoni pizza into her mouth. Did you mention you were quite possibly in love with her?

"Are you a secret nerd, Miss Mitchell because I could definitely be into that?" You're choking. You are full on, dough in your lungs, choking. When you finally get yourself together you find her watching you cautiously as she trembles in her effort not to outright laugh at you.

"That probably tells you as much as you need to know." She laughs then, but it's musical and you kinda feel like you earned it. That's when the butterflies, definitely not caused by sweaty Bill, return and you curse yourself for apparently being such an idiot around Chloe. "I, however, do not seem to know enough about you."

"What would you like to know?" She asks.

"The basics I guess."

"Well then, my full name is Chloe Elizabeth Beale and I was born in Florida. I hate pickles and my favourite sexual position is-"You cut her off.

"Stop!" She's grinning at you, and it's this devious grin that has your stomach churning at a ridiculous pace and you're mind whirling even faster.

"Aren't you curious?" She questions, an octave lower than usual.

"Obviously, but where would be the fun in letting you just _tell_ me?" You surprise yourself with that one, though evidently not as much as you surprise her if the gasp she omits is anything to go by. You're totally proud of that one. You note that Stacie would be proud of you too, which isn't something you could usually say in these matters - generally she laughed at you for tripping over chairs in front of pretty women.

"I didn't see that one coming." You're not sure what compels you to utter the next words out of your mouth - maybe it was the pleasure you derived from watching her flounder the first time, or maybe you'd finally just gone bat shit crazy over this whole _Secret Santa_ thing and forgotten basic social conventions and such.

"I can see you coming quite grahica-"

"Stop!" It's your turn to grin at her now as a particularly crimson blush creeps its way up her neck.

"You started it." You joke childishly and revel in the indulgent way she shakes her head. You're not quite sure how you've gotten to this stage so quickly, you suppose a friendship/attraction built upon a solid base of baked goods must be a strong one, or at least, it is in your case. But you do really love cookies.

"And now I'm finishing it."

"That's what she said." You're not quite sure that one works but she smiles enough in return for you not to question it, or care too much.

"Shut up and eat your pizza – I want ice cream."

"Yes ma'am."

* * *

You can't say you're entirely sure what part of rushing into her office shouting "It's you!" in an extremely accusatory tone you thought was a good idea. But it is what you do and she does look suitably surprised and equally confused as you continue to stand there.

"What's me?" She laughs and maybe it wasn't the time to note that this was the first time you'd actually been in her office. You'd stood outside it just yesterday as she abruptly gave you a hug after lunch and disappeared inside but you can't remember a time that you'd actually had the courage to enter.

The whole finding out of secrets thing was obviously driving you insane.

"Santa." You watch curiously as she stretches out each limb in turn and looks at them like she's seeing them for the first time.

"Oh my God, I'm Santa Claus?! I better get back to the North Pole or Christmas will be ruined." Your eyes roll on their own accord because her smirk tells you she knew exactly what you meant and she's enjoying this far too much.

"My _Secret Santa_ , and don't try to deny it Miss 'Don't-Forget-Your-Scarf'."

"How'd you figure it out?" You colour slightly at that one.

"I kinda, maybe, made a shortlist of who it could be and unwrapping another scarf plus a mini fridge gave me this crazy confidence to rush in here and accuse you." She stands from her desk then and comes towards you slowly, almost shyly you note – the same manner in which she approached you yesterday when asking you for lunch.

"Did you like them?"

"They're perfect, just like every year." Apparently honesty was going to be on the cards today, probably just because you couldn't trust your mouth to lie when her arms were wrapped around you and everything in your eye line was boob ( _awesome_ boob).

"I have a secret." She says when you somehow manage to extract yourself from her warmth. It's odd that you actually seem to have trouble pulling yourself away from her, normally you weren't one for human contact - especially not something beyond the general high fives from Stacie, or the chest bumps Amy coerces you into when you are way too drunk for your own good. It was probably because you had some stupid festering crush on her, which had become all too real the moment you watched her shove an entire slice of pizza in her mouth in one go. Evidently it was an odd time to come to the conclusion you liked someone but nothing about this whole thing seemed very normal to you.

"Oh yeah?"

"I got Gail to purposely give me your name so I'd have an in with you." She admits.

"But it was a secret thing?" She laughs at you then.

"I've been dropping hints for two years. I thought they were obvious but apparently not so much." You are such an idiot. An honest to god idiot. She probably could have waved the gift receipts in front of your face and you wouldn't have noticed.

"I'm a little oblivious to things not laid out directly in front on me." You chuckle for a moment before she steps forward and you find the sound catches desperately in your throat. You shouldn't be so affected by her presence. Why after all this time had you suddenly lost your mind? You were supposed to be cool and collected not sweaty palmed and stuttering over a pretty girl.

"Let me make this obvious then." She whispers against your lips before she kisses you. In the moments in which you manage to forget where you are and lose yourself in her lips, you maintain that you hate secrets, but if this is what Christmas brings, you could be all for it. In the next moments when Aubrey comes crashing in desperately clutching at Stacie, muttering that Chloe will be out for lunch and no one will find them, you decide you could probably continue to hate Christmas for a few more years - preferably from the comfort of your own, untainted, office.


End file.
